


The Way Home

by menel



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Bets & Wagers, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Dream Sex, Dreamscapes, Grief/Mourning, Insecurity, Introspection, Jealousy, M/M, Magic, Politics, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Sibling Love, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-02-10 22:31:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 53,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12921585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: In the vastness of space, Loki has too much time to think. Mostly he thinks about his relationship with Thor and the uneasy tension that still exists between them since their sister was defeated and Ragnarok fulfilled. Loki wonders how to defuse that tension when talking – about the things that really matter – seems impossible. Until one day, the answer presents itself. He can talk to Thor in his brother’s dreams.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This may be read as a sequel to [“You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me,”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868863) but it also works fine as a standalone.

Loki has too much time to think on the slow journey to Midgard, a destination he has deep misgivings about but has yet to broach the subject with his brother. He can tell by the furtive glances that Thor casts his way whenever he thinks Loki isn’t paying attention (but Loki’s always been the observant one) that it’s a subject that Thor is also avoiding, no doubt fearful of Loki’s answer to his unspoken question and the painful discussion it would take to get to that point. It’s in Thor’s nature to confront things head on – smash first and (sometimes) ask questions later. In that respect, he and the Hulk are more similar than his brother would care to admit. But not when it comes to Loki. Thor can play the waiting game when he must, but in the end, Loki knows that Thor will always give first. 

The vastness of space is a surprising comfort to him. Clocks and watches are set on Asgardian time, but outside is inky blackness punctuated by pinpricks of light. 

_‘Father told me that Asgard is not a place. It’s a people.’_

Strange words, Loki thinks in return. Words that he’s been pondering for days. Though they haven’t discussed it, Loki is certain that Thor is going to park this monstrosity of a ship in Norway, right on the spot where their Father left them and Hela was freed from her exile. This could be Asgard, Odin had told them, indicating the peaceful, isolated, almost desolate countryside and craggy, steep cliffs. There is a terrible foreshadowing to Odin’s words now. 

“How much did you know?” Loki whispers to the blackness of space. “How far did you see ahead? You knew that Ragnarok could never have been stopped.” 

A slight cough behind him and to his right interrupts his ruminations. Loki doesn’t turn. He meets the Valkyrie’s even gaze through the long glass window that he’s facing and lifts a questioning brow. 

“We’ll arrive in ten minutes,” she tells him, her face and expression bored. 

Loki inwardly smiles. He’d always admired her as Scrapper 142. She shows just as much respect to him now as a Prince of Asgard as she did on Sakaar, which is to say not very much. They were not friendly on that chaotic planet, but an uneasy alliance has been struck between them since they boarded this ship. She even seems to have forgiven him the liberty he took of stealing her memories. If not forgiven, at least she is no longer as resentful. It is a kind of relief, Loki thinks, that she does not have to speak of that time and yet someone knows intimately what happened, felt what she felt, experienced what she experienced, relieved those memories as if they belonged to them. He knows that they will never speak of it, and if she is apprehensive that Loki holds that power over her, she hides it well. Loki knows that she is also unsettled by being among her people again. She has finally exorcised her demons, but surely, she hadn’t expected to survive her second encounter with Hela. Their mission had been a suicide mission. 

Better to die a glorious death, Loki thinks of the Valkyrie, than to live through survivor’s guilt. Again. But the Valkyrie is tired of running and hiding. It's not in her blood. Just like it's not in Thor’s blood. (Is it in yours? he silently asks.) 

But they – he, his brother, and the Valkyrie – had all survived and would live with the consequences of their actions. The task of rebuilding hasn’t yet begun, and Loki’s chest constricts at the thought. He doesn’t know his place, just as the Valkyrie is uncertain of hers. But she has purpose, Loki thinks, and will adapt. He still feels adrift (he has always been adrift, trapped between worlds, trapped between bodies) and that is why the cosmos is comforting to him. The emptiness of space matches the hollowness in his soul – his perpetual exile. Thor has lost his home, has lost his father; has lost everything really ( _almost everything_ , a voice whispers traitorously). But Loki? He isn’t so sure. What did he ever have to lose when his life had been built on a lie? _A lie that Thor now understands_ that voice whispers again. Loki silences it.

“Was there something else?” he asks the reflection when he notices that the Valkyrie hasn’t left. 

“Yes,” she replies. 

Loki waits for her to continue. 

“We,” she begins. Another arch of the brow has her altering her choice of words. “ _I_ ,” she amends, “was hoping that you would join us.” 

It is as polite a request as Loki has ever heard from the Valkyrie. He reins in the smirk that is threatening to break out (perhaps the tiniest curl of a lip sneaks by). 

“I hardly think my brother needs more security,” he replies. 

Not that Thor needs any security at all, he mentally adds. But his companions should be able to keep him out of trouble. And, well, _if_ Thor does get into trouble, Loki and their friendly band of gladiators will come to the rescue. (And if Loki can’t get them all out of trouble, well, there’s always Heimdall.) 

The Valkyrie doesn’t even attempt to hide her exasperation as she rolls her eyes and steps closer to him. Loki finally turns around so that they can have a proper conversation. 

“I’m not referring to security,” she says with the fire that is in her warrior’s blood.

“Then speak plainly.” 

The Valkyrie’s eyes burn through him, but Loki holds his ground. 

“Your brother is a good man,” she begins. “And I have no doubt that he will grow into a wise and just ruler.” 

There was a time when Loki might’ve laughed outright at the statement, but that time has passed. Still, he allows the ‘but’ to hang in the air between them. 

“…but he does not have your skill and subtlety,” she continues. “I know the people call you the silver tongue, the negotiator, the diplomat. Whatever your relationship to them, they mean it as a compliment.” 

Loki has to hold back another smirk. By now the Valkyrie must’ve heard about his past exploits – the good _and_ the bad. Probably, the bad. Scandal and shame make for more interesting gossip. “That’s funny,” he says lightly. “I thought they called me the Trickster.” 

The pithy look she gives him makes Loki laugh and the Valkyrie’s lips twitch in corresponding amusement. 

“Even if I didn’t hear it from the people,” she continues, when Loki’s laughter has died away. “I watched you on Sakaar. I saw how you manipulated the Grandmaster, how you earned his favor. There was a betting pool on how you would overtake the planet, how quickly you would do so and by what method.” 

“Really?” Loki is intrigued. This is news to him. His smile grows silken when he asks, “And what did you bet on?” 

“Three more weeks. Assassination by poison in the Grandmaster’s bed.” 

“Hmm…” Loki nods thoughtfully. “Three more weeks, yes,” he agrees absently. “But not poison,” he corrects. “A malfunction. On the Commodore.” He grins at her knowing glint. “I never slept with him, you know.”

“Well, obviously,” she replies, with enough derision that Loki is impressed. “How else could you have strung him along for so long?” 

Loki’s beginning to see that he really does like her – 

“So, you’ll join us?” 

– but not too much. 

With a resigned sigh, he inclines his head in acknowledgement. Her smile is much too self-satisfied for his liking. 

“We’ll wait for you at the hangar deck, Your Highness,” she says with a mock bow before she turns away. 

“What’s your name?” he calls after her, as she strides down the corridor. The rude gesture that he receives as a response is expected and he smiles in turn, knowing that she can’t see. So far, she hasn’t told anyone her real name (Loki suspects he knows what it is), but it’s only a matter of time.

* * * * *

The ship is spacious, but the journey to Midgard – even with the shortcuts known to them – will be long. Their vessel already had supplies – food, medicines, fuel – but not enough to last the entire way. This stop will be the first of several they will have to make before they reach the planet. As Loki descends from their landing vessel with Thor on his left, he can feel his brother’s gaze upon him again. He ignores it, keeping his eyes fixed on the welcoming party that is approaching them. But the same thought must be crossing their minds, Loki thinks. On which of these planets should he get off? On which of these planets should he stay?

“The Princes of Asgard!” the Councilor greets them brightly with outstretched arms. 

“The _King_ of Asgard,” Loki corrects, so swiftly and so primly that he wonders how rusty his diplomatic skills have become. 

Thankfully, the Councilor takes no offense. “But of course,” he agrees, bowing low before Thor. “Welcome, Your Highness.” 

“I thank thee,” Thor replies graciously, slipping into more stately language. 

“If you’ll follow me,” the Councilor continues, gesturing down the path to the royal gardens and the palace.

Thor turns to look at Loki and there is a silent battle of wills between the brothers as Thor motions through his eyes that Loki should take the place beside him. There was a time – not that long ago – when walking beside his brother was as natural as breathing, but that was when they had been equals. ( _You have_ never _been equals_ , a voice viciously reminds him.) Now Thor is king and protocol dictates that he should walk with the Councilor alone, and that Loki should be half a step behind him and to his right. 

The Councilor waits patiently, a placid expression on his face as the Asgardian brothers argue silently. It’s only the Valkyrie’s not-so-discreet cough that finally pushes Loki into action, glaring daggers at his etiquette-disregarding brother while he takes his place beside him. Thor’s shit-eating grin of victory is for Loki’s eyes alone. He is in good spirits when he returns his attention to the Councilor who has begun the aimless small talk necessary as they walk to the palace. 

It was no small feat, Loki would later think, negotiating a treaty with a prosperous realm when they had so little (practically nothing) to offer in return. But his diplomacy skills weren’t as rusty as he thought after all; he bargained the skills of his people ( _Thor’s people_ , he reminds himself), Asgardian technology and the future prosperity of a rebuilt Asgard against the tools and supplies that would be needed to reach their destination. 

“And what is your destination?” the King had inquired politely. 

“Midgard,” Thor had answered. 

“A rather backward planet,” the King had said in surprise. 

“It has its charms,” Thor had countered with a smile. “Asgard has roots there. Our people will be welcomed.”

Loki sipped his wine as Thor spoke, thinking of the security agencies, international organizations, numerous governments and military forces that comprise Midgard’s ruling elite. His brother is being fanciful if he thinks the humans would simply welcome them with open arms. He remembers the term ‘illegal alien’ during his brief stay on the planet, and the negative, even hostile, connotations attached to it. Asgardians are now the embodiment of that term. ( _But not_ conquering _aliens_ that irritating voice says. Perhaps that would make a difference.) It isn’t just the humans that would object. There’s also that two-bit sorcerer who fancies himself a protector of Midgard. Loki wouldn’t mind playing a few tricks on _him_. (He also thinks that Strange may not object to the Asgardians per se – Thor does have a lot of goodwill – but he would definitely object to Loki.) 

After the dinner held in their honor, there’s still more socializing to be done. Thor is being presented to the King’s daughter, even though it is a hopeless match. But Thor is his usual polite and charming self, and the princess is obviously delighted by his attentions; the father is equally pleased. Loki, on the other hand, wants to slip away. He’s already bored with this court and has certainly fulfilled his quota of princely duties for the day. In fact, he’s about to slink away when the Valkyrie materializes beside him with two full goblets of wine. She hands him the second goblet and Loki flashes her an exasperated look before accepting. 

“At least the wine is good,” she informs him. 

“Better enjoy it,” he replies. “Alcohol is limited on the ship.” Even as he says this, he knows that she has her own secret stash. A considerable one, probably. 

“Oh?” the Valkyrie says with feigned surprise. “Didn’t you include wine as part of our supplies? My lord, wine is integral to the culture and life of Asgard. It is part of the warrior’s code.” Her tone is stately and mocking all at once and Loki has to refrain from smiling.

“A culture and tradition that you are exceedingly well versed in,” he replies. “I would’ve thought,” he added, maintaining his light tone, “that perhaps now you would indulge a little less.” 

The look she casts him is sharp and a little reproachful. Then she turns her attention to the rich wine in her goblet, swirling the liquid slightly. Loki watches as she brings the goblet to her lips and drinks its entire contents as though it were water. 

“Old habits are hard to break,” she tells him afterwards, flatly but with a touch of defiance. 

Loki nods, taking his own small sip of wine. “They are,” he agrees, not liking the direction in which their conversation has turned, even though he is the cause. 

Her look softens. “Are you going to help him?” she asks. 

Loki follows the direction of her gaze to where his brother is obviously trying to fend off (but very politely) a now handsy and slightly inebriated princess. 

“What for? This is the part that he’s good at.”

“I s’ppose that’s why he keeps throwing pleading looks in your direction,” she remarks dryly. 

It’s true. Thor is definitely throwing pleading looks in Loki’s direction. 

“Go on,” she says. “Help your brother.” 

The Valkyrie pushes him towards Thor. A startled look crosses her face when her hand passes through his illusion. Loki’s figure shimmers for an instant before reclaiming the firm appearance of reality. She narrows her eyes and Loki knows what she’s thinking. _At what point in their conversation did he slip away?_ She’s not yet used to his tricks, but she’ll catch on soon enough. 

Loki smiles as he takes another sip of the wine. “My brother can take care of himself,” he replies. With another shimmer of faint green and gold, he’s gone.

* * * * *

Loki is already in bed in his guest chambers of the palace when he hears the heavy footfall on his balcony. Sleep was on the verge of claiming him, but the disturbance sharpens his senses and a knife is instantly in his right hand. He slips out of bed and into the shadows leaving a doppelganger sprawled in his place.

The curtains part on the balcony and a figure steps inside. Loki recognizes the unmistakable shape of the person and with an internal sigh puts away his knife. He doesn’t move from the shadows, however, curious to see what his brother will do. Thor walks over to the large bed and stands unmoving by the bed’s side, his gaze fixed on the sleeping figure. It is both creepy and fascinating, watching his brother watch an illusion of him sleep. After a long moment of silence, Thor clears his throat. 

“Loki?” 

The inflection in Thor’s voice turns Loki’s name into a question, not addressed to the figure on the bed, but to the darkness of the room. 

“It’s good to know that you’ve not lowered your defenses,” Thor continues amiably. 

The sleeping figure evaporates as Loki steps from the shadows behind Thor. His brother turns at the movement. From the moonlight filtering through the balcony, Loki can see Thor’s warm smile and the flush in his cheeks from the wine he’s drunk this evening. He’s still in good spirits from the celebration. 

“I had a lot of practice on Sakaar,” Loki says, in an unexpected moment of honesty. 

Thor must recognize the statement for what it is since his good humor dampens somewhat. Before his brother can ask any uncomfortable questions, Loki continues smoothly. 

“And you? You can’t just use a door like a normal person?” 

For a moment, Loki thinks that Thor isn’t going to let his evasive tactic slide, but his brother laughs good-naturedly. 

“That’s rich,” Thor says. “Coming from someone who can transport himself in and out of places at will.” 

Loki shrugs, walking past Thor so that he can climb back into bed. He’s in no mood for banter. He can feel Thor following his actions. 

“Move over,” Thor says, nudging Loki with his knee. “I’m staying here tonight.” 

“And what’s wrong with your bed?” Loki asks a little petulantly, even as he’s moving to make room for his brother. 

Thor starts to strip and Loki feels a brief flash of heat when he remembers that his brother prefers to sleep naked. They haven’t shared a bed since that first night on the ship, which Loki had spent in his brother’s room. If Thor had thought that sharing a bed would become the norm after that…well, he was sorely mistaken. Thor hasn’t touched him since then. Not a kiss, friendly or otherwise. No hugs or manly pats on the back. But Thor is always very near. Hovering, Loki would call it, but never quite breaching his personal space as though Loki has put up some invisible shield around himself. It is an unusual détente that they have reached. His brother is patiently waiting him out, but Loki can wait just as well. 

“There’s nothing wrong with my bed,” Thor tells him now. “Only its location.” 

Loki turns over on his side, his back to Thor. “There was a time when you would’ve welcomed those attentions,” he replies. He knows the princess is hunting Thor down and is mildly surprised that Thor is not taking her up on her affections. Is his brother being responsible? 

“She is very fetching,” Thor agrees. Loki feels the dip of the bed as his brother joins him. “But I am in no mood for a quick dalliance.” 

Loki almost snorts. He can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “Perhaps you should take advantage, brother. A quick dalliance with one of your own people would not be looked upon so favorably now.” 

Thor is silent and Loki thinks that’s the end of it (he’s used to getting the last word), but then Thor murmurs, “I have my eye on someone else. And it is no dalliance.” 

Loki feels that warm flush again, and he’s thankful that his back is to Thor. The air in the room feels charged, like the electricity that dances so gracefully off his brother’s skin. 

“Go to sleep,” he says irritably. 

The bed shakes slightly with Thor’s quiet laughter.

* * * * *

Later that night, Loki is woken by Thor’s agitation. His brother is asleep, but caught in a disquieting dream. He moans and shifts, restless, hands clenching the sheets so tightly that his knuckles appear white in the moonlight. Unthinkingly, Loki leans over him and places his palm against Thor’s forehead. Instantly, his brother’s expression relaxes and the tension leaves his body. Loki takes his hand away, the spell having done its work. Thor unconsciously leans towards him. Before he can think too much of it, Loki bends down and places a gentle kiss on the side of Thor’s mouth.

“Sleep well, brother,” he whispers, before he resumes his former position.


	2. Chapter 2

“Vanaheim!” Thor announces loudly the next day as he sits next to Loki in the ship’s cafeteria. (Thor teasingly calls the giant ugly rectangular room a ‘feasting hall,’ but Loki prefers the functional – and accurate – ‘cafeteria.’)

Loki looks up from the book that he’s reading. There’s a plate of fruit and cheese in front of him and a glass of wine on the side. (The Valkyrie has decided to share her stash since Loki shows much more moderation than Thor.) The book (and several others besides) was a parting gift from the King, for which Loki is extremely grateful. Finally, he has something to break the tedium of space travel. When he thinks of the loss of the great libraries of Asgard, he is almost overcome with a sense of despair. All that knowledge and history and culture. There is nothing on Midgard that can compare and so much of their information is inaccurate! It’s appalling how humans have such a narrow, ignorant view of the cosmos.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Thor tells him, while plucking a grape from Loki’s plate. Loki watches while Thor polishes off the remainder of the wine in his glass before refilling it for Loki from the carafe on the table. “Where did you get the wine?” 

Loki ignores the question. “Vanaheim?” he repeats. 

“Yes, Vanaheim,” Thor says again, but now he’s too absorbed in the plate of fruit and cheese that he’s appropriated for himself. He’s picked up one of Loki’s knives and is cutting through a peach. “What are you doing here? This was the last place I thought to look.” 

“You’ve answered your own question,” Loki remarks, returning his attention to his book since Thor is now concerned with eating. (One thing that hasn’t changed? His brother’s short attention span.)

“Seriously,” Thor continues, now spearing a slice of cheese. “What _are_ you doing here?” 

“Isn’t this the designated place for eating aboard this vessel?” Loki asks innocently. 

Thor gives him a sideways glance that says he doesn’t buy Loki’s answer for one second. “You? A plate of fruit and cheese? A carafe of wine and a book?” He passes Loki a slice of peach, which Loki accepts. “I’d expect you to be holed up in your room reading.” 

“We’re no longer in Asgard,” Loki points out. “My room is hardly comfortable for that sort of lounging.” 

“You have a state room,” Thor reminds him. 

“If you can call it that,” Loki says, accepting another slice of peach from his brother. 

“So, you choose to read in here instead?”

“Thor,” Loki says a little impatiently, “how many people do you see in this horrid room?” 

The answer is obvious but Thor takes a cursory glance around. It’s just the two of them. It’s the dead time between meals and Loki has ( _had_ , until his brother arrived) the vast room to himself. Even the kitchen staff is nowhere to be found (although a server had mysteriously turned up when Loki first entered and asked if he required anything. Since then, she’s also disappeared.) 

“You’re here for privacy?” Thor asks a little disbelievingly. 

“And quiet,” Loki mutters. “Until I was disturbed.” 

Thor nudges him with his shoulder. “Is this your makeshift library?” he teases. 

Loki gives his brother a pained expression, but he has to look away at the pure affection and fondness that he sees in Thor’s face. Thor’s analogy is not wholly inaccurate. Loki has always sought peace and silence when reading, preferably with space. Once, Asgard’s libraries had been a great source of comfort to him. He looks down at his book again and absently turns a page.

“You were saying something about Vanaheim?” he says with disinterest, changing the topic. 

“Yes,” Thor states. Immediately, Loki can sense the shift in his brother. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. The Vanaheim system is the closest one to ours. Well, there’s also Alfheim,” Thor adds as an afterthought, “but the Vanir are our kin. We should stop there, as you suggested.” 

Loki nods. “Good,” he says simply. “It would be nice to see Freyja again.” He wonders if Freyja would be happy to see him. It has been years since his last visit, long before his misdeeds, which the goddess has no doubt heard of by now. 

“She is very fond of you,” Thor agrees. 

“Theirs is a land of sorcery and magic. The Vanir appreciate my skill.” Loki stops short realizing that Thor might take his words the wrong way, even if that wasn’t his intention. “They will make an offer,” he says easily to circumvent Thor’s possible reaction. 

“You mean Freyr and Freyja?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you think we should accept?” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“But the idea sits well with you?” Thor presses. 

“It sits better with me than Midgard,” Loki finally admits. 

“Would you be happy on Vanaheim?” 

Loki makes a face and reaches for his wine glass. “What happened to taking a broader perspective, hmm?” he says, half-reprimandingly. “The question is would the _people_ be happy on Vanaheim? Are they suited to the planet? Would they be welcome there?”

“Those questions apply equally to you,” Thor says quietly. 

Loki glares at him, drinking his wine to stop himself from saying anything sharp and cutting. His brother has completely ruined his peaceful afternoon. 

“Was that all you wished to discuss about Vanaheim?” he asks abruptly, putting down the now half-empty wine glass. He wants to stand up. He feels the tension coiled in his body thanks to Thor’s line of questioning. 

“No,” Thor answers firmly. 

Almost unconsciously, Loki responds to the note of authority in his brother’s voice. He relaxes a fraction as he half-turns to look at Thor. 

“Well?”

To his surprise, Thor is the one who looks uncomfortable and Loki immediately realizes that what he’s about to say is what Thor truly wanted to discuss with him. 

“I would also like to visit Hogun’s home world,” Thor explains. “To pay my respects to his family. As you know, his home world is in the Vanaheim system.” 

Loki nods. “Yes, one of the moons,” he supplies. Loki also knows that all of Hogun’s immediate family is dead, but that Thor wishes to pay his respects to Hogun’s tribe. It is customary for a fallen warrior of Hogun’s stature, especially one who fought nearly his entire life in the service of Asgard. And died for it, Loki thinks. 

“It is a fine idea,” he says into the silence that has fallen between them. “Nobody will object.” 

Thor takes a deep breath. “I want you to come with me,” he continues. “No entourage. Just the two of us.” 

Loki is very still. He and Hogun were not particularly close. In fact, the Warriors Three were most definitely Thor’s friends, not his. If Loki were being truly honest with himself, he’d be able to admit that he harbored some resentment against them when they were younger. The Warriors Three pulled Thor away from him, and though Thor insisted that Loki join their campaigns, the appearance of those three close friends was a sure indication that Loki was being left behind. It didn’t help matters that Loki’s sorcery was subtly scorned, that he would be accused of ‘cheating’ with his magic. (From Loki’s point of view, sorcery was what allowed him to even the playing field.) Among the Warrior’s Three, Fandral was the one that Loki remembered the most fondly. Fandral was at least cultured, had taste and enjoyed a clever joke now and then. Volstagg was a giant bear with a bear’s appetite. He was stout hearted, loyal and true, but a little dim in Loki’s view. As for Hogun…enigmatic Hogun. He’d respected Loki’s seidr more than the others because of his upbringing in Vanaheim where magic was more readily used and accepted. Hogun’s tribe was shamanistic by nature. But that didn’t mean that Loki and Hogun were close. Not at all. 

“Will you accompany me?” 

Loki shakes his head slightly, but it isn’t a refusal. “Of course,” he replies and he means it. He will go because his brother asked. 

“Good.” 

Loki can hear the relief in Thor’s voice. His brother stands up. “Good,” he repeats, sounding distinctly pleased. “I’ll see you later,” he adds, stealing a few more grapes from Loki’s plate. When he’s a few feet away, he calls back, “You still haven’t told me where you got the wine.” 

“Good-bye, Thor,” Loki says without even looking up.

* * * * *

The stopover on Vanaheim proved to be a splendid idea. Freyr and Freyja were gracious hosts and they accommodated their Asgardian kin for over a week. As Loki predicted, they offered their own home world to the Asgardians as a place of resettlement. It was a very tempting offer, but in the end Thor refused, his heart still set on Midgard.

“How the times have changed,” Heimdall remarks on the third night of their stay in Vanaheim. He, Thor and Loki are having a nightcap in Thor and Loki’s royal suite. Freyr had made the offer of resettlement during dinner and the three of them are now discussing it. 

“Once, the enmity between Freyr and Odin was so great that Freyr would’ve lorded it over us – a homeless and displaced people coming to him for help – instead of offering sanctuary.” 

“You sound as if you don’t trust our kin,” Thor observes. 

Heimdall shakes his head, but he gives Loki a piercing look as though waiting for something. 

Loki sighs. “These walls have been spell-cast,” he says, a habit he had long ago forged in Asgard. It had been his way of keeping Odin’s and Heimdall’s prying eyes out of his affairs. “No one can see us or overhear us.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust our kin,” Heimdall continues. “I do. I am merely cautious when we are in such a weakened state. This is a land of sorcery and magic,” he says, echoing Loki’s own words. “We are surrounded by powerful forces and some of them might mean us ill.” 

“You are Vanir, are you not?” Loki inquires. 

Heimdall gives him another piercing look. “Yes, my prince.” 

“I didn’t know that,” Thor said, looking at Heimdall with surprise.

“I was part of the great exchange when the First War ended,” Heimdall explains, but it is a story that is familiar to Loki. He remembers it from their history lessons as a youth.

“As was your mother,” Heimdall adds, inclining his head. “Vanir. Aesir. I no longer make the distinction. I serve Asgard.” 

Loki gives the Gatekeeper a crafty smile. “You were always more Aesir than Vanir, Heimdall,” he says. “Warrior’s blood of a warrior race.” 

For a moment, Loki thinks that Heimdall will fire his own quick response about Loki’s heritage. But the Gatekeeper merely looks at him thoughtfully, as though gauging the bait Loki has laid out. 

“We are all Aesir now,” he says instead.

Beside him, Loki can feel his brother’s warm, approving smile and Loki lets his semi-combative stance go. Heimdall is a useful ally. (Better an ally than an enemy.) Loki hasn’t forgotten when he was young and Heimdall showed him favor. Heimdall had always seen his quickness and intelligence, the power of his seidr, while others had scoffed and thought him a weakling, the lesser prince of Asgard. That’s why the Gatekeeper had known that he was always the more dangerous, cunning brother. Heimdall kept his secret when Loki began disappearing from his sight and later still, when Loki learned to harness his seidr to travel through the secret paths of Yggdrasill. Even now, after the years Heimdall spent in exile thanks to Loki’s decree, the Gatekeeper doesn’t seem to begrudge him anything. (Saving their people has earned him a measure of forgiveness, Loki suspects.) While Heimdall hadn’t totally approved of his rule, he also hadn’t condemned it. The fact that he never revealed Loki’s deception when he’d certainly had the power to do so said something as well. Loki just isn’t sure what.

“This Aesir is for bed,” Thor announces, glancing at Loki. There is an invitation in that look that takes Loki by surprise, though he doesn’t show it. 

Bold, he thinks. In front of Heimdall, no less. 

Heimdall must know what happened between them on that first night on the ship, not because he saw it (Loki hid their actions from his sight), but because the Gatekeeper is aware of their history, though Loki has always spared him the intimacies. (He thinks Heimdall appreciates his consideration.) 

“So am I,” Loki agrees, and he stands up first. “Good night, brother,” he tells Thor. “Heimdall,” he adds, acknowledging the Gatekeeper with a look. 

“Good night, my prince,” Heimdall replies.

Loki’s skin itches from Heimdall’s deference, from the subtle use of a title that he had discarded some time ago. It is a way of fixing him in his place, of trying to get him to resume his responsibilities to their displaced people, of making him _stay_. He gives the guardian a long look; he can appreciate the Gatekeeper’s cunning. Heimdall’s golden eyes gleam back at him, holding his gaze before Loki nods once more and takes his leave. 

On his walk to his bedchamber, he hears Heimdall and his brother resume the conversation. He suspects that he is the topic. He is certain of it when he hears Heimdall say, “Give him time.” 

Time for what? Loki thinks as he magically seals his door.

* * * * *

Although Thor refused Freyr and Freyja’s offer to resettle on Vanaheim, it was to be expected that some of their people would stay. Asgardians had kin among the Vanir and when faced by the choice of family and familiarity or a long space journey to an unknown realm and an uncertain future, Thor could hardly begrudge some of the people their choice. He granted them permission to stay and wished them well.

“We need to conduct a census,” Thor says to Heimdall and Loki, as the three of them watch the Asgardians disembark The Haven. 

(“The Haven?” Loki had repeated in disbelief when he’d learned the name of their vessel. “As in _The_ Haven,” he’d said, emphasizing the article. 

“I rather like it,” Thor had said with a smile. 

“For the irony?” Loki had given his brother a dry look. 

“Haven good name,” Hulk had chimed in. 

Loki had looked at the giant, green creature and kept his other opinions to himself. He would have to find a way to bring Banner back. Sharing an enclosed vessel with the Hulk no matter the vessel’s size was…untenable. 

“The Haven it is,” the Valkyrie had said brightly.)

“A census,” Thor is saying now, “before we resume travel so that we have an idea of our population and the skills of our people.” 

“It will be done,” Heimdall informs him. 

Loki turns away only to find Thor falling into step beside him. 

“Heimdall says that the census will take two days,” Thor continues, chatting amiably, as though he were discussing what they should have for dinner. “This stop over is also good for shore leave since we don’t know when we’ll be able to get the people off the ship again or where we’ll be welcomed so warmly, nor accommodated so easily.” 

Loki nods absently until Thor suddenly grasps his arm. They stop abruptly. “Heimdall and the Valkyrie have everything well in hand,” he says, his voice dropping and taking on more gravity. “I thought now would be a good time to go to Hogun’s home."

“Yes, all right,” Loki agrees, hating the way his body tenses at the unexpected touch and the length of it. 

Thor releases him immediately as if sensing Loki’s discomfort. One would think that Loki had been the one to shock him with cords of electricity. Thor looks guarded for a moment and Loki wonders whether that is disappointment he reads in his brother’s features. But the shadow leaves his brother’s face just as quickly and his smile is radiant again. 

“Shall we?” he says. 

“What? You mean right now?” 

Thor shrugs. “A light Vanir vessel has been outfitted for us,” he says easily, as though he hasn’t been planning this trip for days. 

Loki arches a brow. “Eager, aren’t we?” he says, vaguely amused. 

Thor points in the distance to a sleek white vessel parked near the end of the runway. It is reminiscent of the skiffs of Asgard, though it is larger and evidently designed for space travel. Loki can tell that it’s a royal vessel; he can even see the retinue of guards that are surrounding the ship in its bay. 

“Fine,” Loki says. “Let me just get a few things.” 

“No need.” 

“You _packed_ for me?” 

Thor looks slightly embarrassed. “No,” he admits. “Freyja did. She packed for _both_ of us,” he rushes on. “I understand the vessel is very well equipped – _over_ equipped – for our short journey.”

“Freyja’s hospitality knows no bounds,” Loki answers, but he doesn’t mean that mockingly or cruelly. It is the simple truth. Freyja has always been kind and generous, especially to Loki. Although Frigga had been the first to teach Loki about magic (with some assistance from Odin), he had eventually been sent to study in Vanaheim with that land’s foremost seidr practitioners, of which Freyja was the most powerful. Freyja had taught him a great deal, and Loki had returned to Asgard to hone his skills and resume further studies with his mother. Later still, he traveled to Alfheim to study the magic of the Light Elves, which was quite different from its Aesir or Vanir counterparts.

“I’ll meet you onboard,” Thor tells him. “I just need a quick word with those men.” He gestures at a group disembarking from _The Haven_. After Loki gives him a nod of agreement, Thor strides towards the group with purposeful steps. 

Loki watches his brother for a while before returning to his attention to the Vanir ship. Since it appears that he has nothing else to do and Thor has evidently planned the rest of their day, he makes his way towards the ship. He isn’t surprised when about halfway to the ship someone else falls into step beside him. This time it isn’t his brother. 

“Heimdall will take care of the census,” the Valkyrie says, as though she were delivering a report. Loki knows that in a way, she is. The Valkyrie regularly reports to him on a variety of things, although Loki has never asked her to. He suspects that it is her way of keeping him involved, while also checking up on him. It's a clever form of surveillance.

In his more uncharitable moments, Loki wonders if Thor has asked her to deliver these updates. It's a technique his brother has used in the past. When they were growing up, Loki didn’t really have any friends of his own. With the exception of Thor’s company, he preferred to be alone. He liked books and learning, and that made him rather dull company for others who were more outgoing and energetic. So, Thor sent companions his way. At first, Loki had been surprised but pleased by the company. It was good to know that there were others his age who were interested in the same things as he was. 

Until one day, one of his ‘friends’ had let it slip that Thor had asked him to spend time with Loki. Galen had meant well. He’d simply been surprised at how well he’d gotten along with Loki, how much he liked him and how glad he was that Thor had asked him to talk to Loki. Some part of Loki had known, even then, that Galen’s friendship had been genuine no matter how it had started. But he’d been livid at the slip up. He thought of all the others that he spent time with and understood that they had all been Thor’s doing. (And very few of them seemed to be ‘true’ friends like Galen.)

Loki had been furious when he’d confronted his brother about it and Thor at least had had the grace not to deny it, embarrassed though he had been. Loki deeply resented his brother for his actions, even though Thor had meant well. All Thor had done was reinforce Loki’s belief that he was unworthy somehow, that people wanted to be close to him only to gain the favor of the Crown Prince, that he had no value on his own. It was a painful lesson to learn, but Loki learned it well. Perhaps that is why later, he always kept some distance between himself and the Warriors Three. Thor’s friends were his own, no matter how much effort they made to include Loki or how genuine their affection seemed to be at times. Thor’s friends couldn’t hurt him if he didn’t allow them to. No one could hurt him, if he was distant and aloof. 

He glances at the Valkyrie beside him and thinks that Thor is beyond such simple machinations. Probably. And the Valkyrie doesn’t seem the type to agree to that. If she wants to keep an eye on Loki, she’d do it out of her own free will, not because Thor asked. (Everything Thor says is a command now, a voice helpfully reminds him.) 

“And what will you be doing?” he inquires. “While Heimdall is occupied by the census?”

“Refueling and supplies,” she answers. “Our hosts have been _extremely_ generous. We may only have to make one or two more additional stops before reaching Midgard. I had forgotten how wealthy and prosperous this realm was.” 

Loki remains silent and she seems to sense his pensiveness. 

“You two aren’t going to kill each other on that moon, are you?” she asks, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Not for lack of trying,” Loki answers glibly. 

The Valkyrie doesn’t smile. 

“We’ll be fine,” he says more seriously. “Unless Thor decides to leave me there.”

“He would never do that,” she snaps, so quickly and with such force that Loki arches a brow. 

But I would, he listlessly thinks. 

The Valkyrie briefly looks irritated at her own loss of control and she takes a deep breath to calm herself. Still, Loki doesn’t say anything. They’ve reached the ship and stop some distance from the guards so that they can’t be overheard. 

“I think he’s more worried that you’re going to stay here,” she says honestly after a while. “In Vanaheim.” 

Loki contemplates this. He can feel her appraising him. “It is a tempting thought,” he replies, just as honestly. 

“So, you _have_ thought of it.” 

Loki gives her a wry smile. “My brother and I are not quite done with each other yet,” he tells her. 

“Will you ever be?” 

“That’s for the Norns to decide.” 

“Well, then,” she states, her tone bringing their conversation to a close. “I’ll see you in two days, Your Highness.”


	3. Chapter 3

Hogun’s home world is a densely forested moon, broken by sweeping plains and fast-flowing rivers. The tribes that live on it are nomadic. Loki wouldn’t know where to find Hogun’s tribe, but Thor has spent enough time with Hogun’s people that he’s familiar with their patterns. He lands their light Vanir vessel in a clearing approximately two miles from where Hogun’s tribe is currently based during that time of the year. 

“She handles very smoothly,” Thor observes as he powers the vessel down. 

“She must,” Loki agrees. “Because I don’t remember you flying that well.” 

Thor gives his brother a lopsided grin and lets the jab slide. (They both know that Loki is the better pilot.) They unbuckle their safety belts and move to the back of the ship. To say that Freyja had over-packed for them was an understatement. Their supplies are good for a party of six and could easily last two weeks. That doesn’t even include the clothing, bedding and other tools needed in the wild. 

“Do you think Freyja might be persuaded to let us keep this vessel?” Thor muses, as they hoist belongings and supplies onto their backs. “It would be useful.” 

“From what I understand, four Vanir fighters as well as two escort ships can be accommodated in the hangar of _The Haven_ ,” Loki replies. 

Thor shoots Loki an appraising look. “Did you negotiate that?” he asks.

Loki shrugs in response, walking down the ship’s landing ramp. “Like you said,” he calls over his shoulder. “It’s useful.” 

The trek to the tribe’s camp is peaceful and spent largely in silence. Thor leads the way with Loki walking beside him, unless the path that they’re following narrows to a point where it’s best to walk in single file. They make good time and Loki observes how Thor seems to be invigorated by the trek. There is a semblance of normality about this, he thinks, a callback to more peaceful and simpler times. He’d be hard pressed to admit it aloud, but he’s also enjoying the trek. This place is about as far away as one can get from the chaos of Sakaar and the destruction of Asgard. This break will do them both good. If only Thor didn’t have to deliver such grim news at the end.

As they near Hogun’s tribe, a young sentry comes out to meet them. Though it’s apparent that Thor has never met him, the sentry recognizes Thor immediately. He salutes both of them and calls to the other sentries still in hiding. Three more scouts appear, and one rushes off to tell the tribe of the Asgardians arrival. Formal introductions are made and then they’re escorted to the tribe. 

By the time they enter the village proper, there is a crowd gathered to meet them. At its center is the Chief, whom Thor knows. They’re invited into the Chief’s tent where Thor proceeds to tell them of how valiantly Hogun fought Hela and defended Asgard until the end. Loki remains quiet throughout Thor’s tale, but he’s aware of the white-haired man who sits opposite him. Without being told, Loki knows that this man is the tribe’s shaman. He can feel the other person’s magic like an aura enveloping him, and he is certain that the other man can feel the same about him. Even if it were not common knowledge that Odin’s second son was a well-known practitioner of seidr, the shaman would be able to sense Loki’s power. Why the shaman is staring at him so openly and intensely puzzles Loki. Only once, he meets and holds the white-haired man’s even gaze. He doesn’t read any malice there, or censure, or disapproval or suspicion. If anything, the seer seems curious. Loki decides that the shaman isn’t a threat, but he also suspects that the seer will want a word with him in private. It feels inevitable, and he’s not sure how that conversation will turn out. 

When Thor’s tale is done, it’s decided that there will be a feast that night in Hogun’s honor (as if there could have been any other outcome, Loki thinks), as well as all the great warriors that fell in battle against Hela. Thor (and Loki) are honored guests and the Chief tells them that part of the feast will include a ceremony renewing the tribe’s friendship with the people of Asgard. Loki finds the Chief’s choice of words subtle and smart, a testament to the Allspeak’s translation abilities. “Renewing friendship” is not the same as “pledging allegiance.” If the Chief thinks that Asgard isn’t in a position to defend and protect his people, he isn’t going to commit a diplomatic faux pas by saying that aloud. But it’s clear that he stills sees an advantage in maintaining a friendship with Thor and the Asgardians. Loki wonders if the other Nine Realms would feel the same way once news of Asgard’s destruction reaches them. If ever they wanted to rebel or rise up against Asgard, now would be the time to do it. Maintaining peace within the Nine Realms is not high on Thor’s current list of priorities.

They’re left to their own devices until the feast that evening. Thor spends it with the young warriors of the tribe, joining in their sparring and training. Loki can tell that it relaxes him, bringing with it the familiar and the mundane. At some point, Thor takes over the session and begins training the warriors himself, adding to their technique by teaching them some of Asgard’s fighting style. He asks Loki to join them, but Loki declines, even though there isn’t much else to do. All the while, Loki keeps an eye out for the white-haired shaman, but the man seems to have disappeared since the gathering at the Chief’s tent dispersed. He supposes that their ‘conversation’ can wait until later.

When evening falls, Thor and Loki are lead to a place of honor beside the Chief as the festivities begin. There is food and entertainment comprised of songs, dances as well as battle reenactments of Hogun’s great deeds. Halfway through the evening is the ceremony renewing the tribe’s friendship with Asgard. Thor is presented with the softest pelts from the animals slain in Asgard’s honor. In return, Thor gives the Chief a ring-hoard, one of the few remaining from their home world. It is a very generous gift, one that shows great honor to Hogun and his tribe. At one point during the ceremony, Thor glances at Loki as though he expects to see disapproval at his generosity, but Loki keeps his expression even and calm. Thor is king now. He can do what he wishes. 

The ceremony marks the formal end of the evening. More food is brought out, the dancing is freer, the music more lively. Loki taps Thor on the arm, his gesture saying that he will retire for the evening. Thor nods in response, though the faintest shadow seems to pass through his eyes at Loki’s loss. When Loki leaves the circular banquet grounds where the feast is being held, he isn’t at all surprised when the shaman materializes from the shadows. The white-haired man gestures to a path leading away from the feast. It’s a sign for Loki to follow him and Loki does.

The area that the shaman leads them to is far enough away that the sounds of the celebration are muted and the blazing fires are dulled by the night sky. Truthfully, Loki expected to wind up in a cave or some high cavern, but the shaman stops by a small campfire in a clearing at the edge of the wood. It appears that the shaman has spent most of the evening here instead of at the feast, judging by the food and drink and other objects. He motions for Loki to sit and Loki does while the shaman settles opposite him. Between them the fire crackles. Loki can’t help but notice the untouched flagon leaning against the stones that surround the blaze, its design and ornamentation unmistakably Asgardian. He watches as the shaman opens the flagon and pours some of its contents into two simple wooden cups, before passing one of the cups to Loki. Even before he accepts, Loki knows what the liquid is; its sweet smell is unmistakable. 

“This is a rare and precious drink indeed,” Loki says to the shaman, the first words spoken between them. “Fit for the gods.” 

“Then I present it to the appropriate audience, son of Odin,” the shaman replies. 

Loki sits back, leaning against the fallen trunk of a tree that acts as a backrest. He holds the cup lightly in his hands. “And why do you present it to me?” he asks. “And not my brother?” 

“Your brother’s path is set,” the shaman answers. “It is certain.” 

Loki understands clearly what the shaman doesn’t say. 

“Will you drink with me, son of Odin?” 

Loki looks down at the liquid in his cup. He can almost see its amber color through the flickering firelight. This is no ordinary mead and even one draught of it might have perilous consequences. Loki lifts the cup to his lips and drinks.

* * * * *

Somehow Loki manages to make it back to the camp and the feast without losing his way in the dark. When he finally came to his senses, he was lying down on the ground at the edge of the clearing and the fire was burning low. The shaman was nowhere in sight. Typical, Loki thought, as he sat up. He had been tempted to simply lie there and go to sleep, until he remembered that his brother would probably cause a ruckus in the morning if he was found missing.

Coincidentally, Thor is the first person that Loki runs into when he returns, almost literally walking into his brother who is nothing more than a hulking shadow to Loki in his current state. Thor’s large hands grasp his upper arms, and it is easy – too easy – to fall into the warmth of his brother’s body. 

“Loki?” Thor sounds very surprised. “I thought you’d retired.” 

“Yes, well,” Loki replies, voice slightly muffled from where he’s resting his head against his brother’s shoulder. He turns his head to the left so that he can speak properly, but is definitely still nestled against Thor. “The tribe’s shaman had other ideas.” 

There is a pause. Then. 

“Loki, are you…high?” 

He is most definitely high. He can still feel the effects of the honeyed mead coursing through his system. He lifts his head and tries to step back, but Thor’s firm grasp keeps him in place. Thor looks golden to him tonight, even without the long hair that Loki used to love clearing the tangles out of as they lay together in bed, and the ghastly eye patch that reminds him too much of Odin. A part of him knows that his reaction is an effect of the mead, but it cannot stop him from giving his brother a rare, unguarded smile. 

“Would you kiss me if I asked?” 

Thor is already bending towards him, and all Loki has to do is tilt his head to the right angle to brush his lips against his brother’s, but at the last moment Thor circumvents the action, turning his head so that Loki grazes his cheek instead. He hears his brother sigh as he pulls Loki closer to him, the hands that had been grasping his arms somehow now holding him in an embrace. Thor buries his face in Loki’s long hair. 

“There are many things I would do if you asked,” Thor says quietly, and Loki almost shivers at the words. “But you are in no condition to be kissed.” He steps away then, but keeps a firm grip on his brother. 

Idly, Loki wonders if anyone has been watching them, if anyone would see something amiss in their actions. Probably not. Thor has always been physically affectionate. As for Loki, to an observer he’s obviously either high or drunk or both. Given that they’re at a feast that isn’t unusual behavior. 

“C’mon,” Thor is saying. “Let’s get you to bed.” 

“My bed?” Loki says. 

“ _Our_ bed,” Thor corrects.

“Our bed?” Loki repeats somewhat inanely. 

That can’t be right. Before he can protest, Thor has thrown an arm across his shoulders and virtually tucked Loki into his side. He leads Loki away. 

“What did the shaman give you?” 

Loki can’t remember the Asgardian name for the mead, so he uses the word in the local vernacular. The Allspeak apparently translates the word well since Thor makes a surprised sound. 

“ _Soma_?” he repeats with some disbelief. “You went on a spirit journey?” 

“It’s what shamans do,” Loki dryly remarks.

Fervently, Loki hopes that his brother’s questions will end here. He can feel Thor’s curiosity radiating off of him. Part of that is due to Loki’s heightened seidr. He has always had a great awareness of his brother, but with the _soma_ flowing through his veins, he feels especially receptive to Thor tonight. And if Thor asks the right questions now, Loki doesn’t think he would have the ability to lie and that would certainly lead to trouble. Thankfully, Thor’s curiosity shifts into something more like thoughtfulness as he leads Loki to their tent. 

“Why don’t we have separate tents?” Loki asks, as they step inside. 

“Custom,” Thor answers smoothly. 

Even in his state, Loki doesn’t believe him for a moment. Thor is a _terrible_ liar. He’s the King of Asgard and could easily have requested two tents. 

“Of course,” Loki agrees, all but crawling to the large pile of warm furs that occupy the center of the tent, which is clearly meant to be their bed. He flops down on them ungracefully. 

Thor is standing at the foot of the pile, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You can’t sleep in full ceremonial dress,” he states.

“Watch me,” Loki replies, eyes already snapping shut. It would take only a moment to cast a vanishing spell to rid him of his clothes, but even that seems like too much effort. 

There’s a low chuckle behind him and then someone is tugging off his boots. The gauntlets come off next. Then the long, green and gold ceremonial robe. There’s also the green ceremonial vest. He feels the buckle of his belt being undone and removed, but his pants remain. Hesitation over the dress shirt, but then fingers are unbuttoning the buttons, and warm hands are gliding over his back and arms. Loki turns over on his side, glad to be free of all the constricting material. A pelt is draped over his shoulder and he snuggles into the warmth. He isn’t sure what happens next, but he thinks that Thor kisses him on the temple before exiting the tent. He falls asleep and he dreams.

* * * * *

Loki awakes with a start, head pounding and a foul taste in his mouth. He’s disoriented for a moment until he remembers where he is and then he relaxes. Outside, it’s still dark. Beside him, Thor is sleeping. He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. The lingering effects of his dreams are with him, which in turn are the effects of the mead. Spirits journeys are unpredictable and hard to fathom. They’ve never been his strength. For all his sorcery, being a seer is not something he can do or has ever shown any predisposition towards. As he told Thor, he can’t see into the future. He sits up, his gaze falling on the jug of water and cup on the low table beside him. Thor’s doing, he suspects. He smiles at his brother’s consideration as he leans over and pours himself a drink. The water is refreshing, banishing the staleness in his mouth.

Loki is just placing the empty cup on the table when his brother stirs. Thor lets out a soft moan, but it is a pained sound. Loki looks at him. Even in the darkness, he can see that Thor is trembling. 

“No!” 

The cry is soft but audible in the silence. 

“No, please. No.” 

Loki shifts closer to his brother. He remembers the dream (‘nightmare’ would be more accurate) that Thor had when they shared a bed not too long ago. He isn’t surprised that his brother suffers from night terrors. There is much that would haunt him. Loki leans over him again and places his palm against Thor’s forehead, ready to cast the same spell that gave his brother peace before. 

Suddenly, a thought grips him. The spell allows his brother to sleep, but does nothing against the nightmares. If Loki truly wants to ease Thor’s distress, he’ll have to go deeper than a simple spell. He suspects the mead still has an effect on him when he casts a different spell, one which calms his brother but also allows him to slip into Thor’s unconscious. He expects to see the flames of Sutur as the fire demon destroys Asgard, but instead is greeted by a dead and desolate landscape. He recognizes the place, though he hopes to never see it again in the flesh. 

Svartalfheim.

The landscape is barren and empty. There’s no trace of the Dark Elves that once lived on this world. Loki looks about him. The area seems deserted until he spies a red cloak in the distance and a familiar head of golden hair. Thor is crouched on the ground, over a fallen figure. Loki’s chest constricts painfully. The tableau is familiar. He knows what he’s about to see, but he’s powerless to stop himself from walking towards his brother. 

Idly, Loki wonders why Jane Foster is not present, but perhaps realism is not so important in the dreamscape. When he reaches Thor, he stops behind his brother. Thor is oblivious to his presence, clutching the dying Loki’s hand. Inappropriate as it is, Loki can’t help but admire the fine spell-work. It is one of his best, most seamless illusions created under great duress. There is the fading of his skin from the pale Aesir form to the light shade of Jotun blue to the almost ash-like appearance of his death. Thor is absolutely distraught and something stabs Loki’s heart at making his brother suffer so. This death is far more painful than plummeting from the Bifrost. Unable to bear it any longer, he reaches out and touches Thor on the shoulder.

Thor startles. He reaches out and Mjolnir is instantly in his hand. He falls back, but Loki recognizes the crouching stance. His brother is about to pounce on his enemy. Thor falters when he sees Loki standing before him. 

“Loki?” he says wonderingly, glancing between the two figures of his brother. 

Thor gets to his feet. Before Loki can respond, he’s being crushed in a bear hug. Thor’s emotions are raw and overwhelming and Loki doesn’t know what to do with them. So he lets Thor hold him, eventually returning his brother’s embrace a little awkwardly while Thor weeps (openly weeps!) on his shoulder. 

“Why would you do this?” Thor asks fiercely when his tears are spent. He grips Loki by the upper arms, making Loki feel like a rag doll about to be shaken to the bones (and with Thor’s strength that’s not an unreasonable thought). “Why would you let me think that you had died? _Again_?”

Loki is stunned by the pain he hears in Thor’s voice, by the anguish that he sees in his brother’s face. It hadn’t occurred to him that his brother would still dream of this – this moment – when _so much_ has happened since then. Thor is waiting for an answer. Loki can feel his resolve breaking. 

“It was the ideal solution.” 

“Ideal solution?” Thor repeats, his grip on Loki tightening. “A solution implies a problem.” 

Loki almost rolls his eyes. “Need I remind you that you were facing Malekith who was intent on plunging the Nine Realms – the _entire universe_ – into darkness?” 

“And you did not think to help me?” Thor accuses. “To fight by my side until the end, no matter the outcome?” 

“I came here for _vengeance_ ,” Loki spits out. 

“You thought only of _yourself_ ,” Thor throws back at him. Thor’s grief has transformed into anger. Loki remembers well how quick Thor’s temper is. It is a trait that he once shared with Odin. Thor finally releases him, but he steps towards Loki, crowding him with his larger physique.

“It is not my duty to protect the Nine Realms,” Loki tells him evenly, firmly holding his ground. Unlike Thor’s fire, Loki’s anger has always been a cold kind of fury. “As I have always been reminded.” 

Loki’s eyes glint dangerously before he looks away, letting his own anger bleed out of him. They have always known how to provoke each other and even now, in Thor’s dreamscape, they are fighting. It makes Loki want to laugh. 

“I could not have helped you anyway,” he says a little wearily, his gaze focused on a distant point beyond his brother’s shoulder. “The injury was real. I used most of my seidr to create that flawless illusion. I could very well have died on this world.” 

“But _why_ would you hide that from me?”

Thor’s anguish is back, as is his confusion. His brother is such an open book that is almost hurts to look at him. 

“I would’ve _helped_ you, Loki.” 

“And done what?” Loki snaps more harshly than he intended. “Would you have brought me back to Asgard? Taken me to Midgard? I would’ve been nothing but a burden.” He shakes his head. “There was no time for any of that. You needed to go on to have any chance of stopping Malekith.” He looks up. “And if you succeeded, what then? Did you really think I would go back to Asgard in chains? To spend the rest of my life in a gilded prison? Like I said, this was the ideal solution.”

Thor’s confusion is gone, but his conflict is still so easy to read. Loki can see it plainly: the admiration of his logic, the cleverness of his solution, the irritation at his solution, the hurt at Loki’s abandonment, the apparent ease with which Loki had cast him and their family aside. 

“That is _not_ what would have happened,” Thor says steadily. “I would’ve told Father about your deeds and he would’ve –” 

“And he would’ve what?” Loki cuts in. “Pardoned me? Come now, Thor. Let’s be realistic.” 

“Maybe not at once,” Thor perseveres. “But his anger and grief would’ve lessened with time. He would’ve seen reason.”

“The Allfather was not known for his mercy.” 

“But you were his _son_.” 

Loki feels like a dam is about to break. Or maybe it’s the feeling of ice cracking across a frozen lake, splintering in all directions. He takes a deep breath. He wills himself to be calm. When he looks at Thor again, his vision is clear. 

“Really, brother,” he says, falling back onto familiar defenses: the teasing lilt of his voice, the mischief in his eyes, the sly curve of his smile. “Must we fight everywhere? Even here?” 

Thor is attuned to the change. His brother knows that it’s a ploy, but Loki is equally certain that Thor doesn’t really want to fight. 

“No,” Thor agrees, one hand coming to rest on his brother’s nape. “We don’t need to fight.” 

Before Loki can say anything else, Thor has leaned down to kiss him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays, everyone! A couple of notes: 
> 
> 1\. This is my last update until after New Year's. Sorry, but I've run out of time to write. :( 
> 
> 2\. Remember that great story Thor tells in _Ragnarok_ about Loki transforming into a snake and then stabbing him when they were kids? I love that story. Instant classic. I also kinda had to deviate from it for this fic because Thor and Loki were just too young when it happens (8 yrs. old, right?) for the scene I wanted to write in this chapter. In the universe of this fic, the snake story happened...just a couple of years later. :) 
> 
> 3\. I have a small request at the end of the chapter. All suggestions are welcome!

The next morning, Loki wakes up alone. Judging by the brightness outside, Thor has let him sleep in. He lies on his back, his mind surprisingly clear. He doesn’t appear to be suffering from any lingering effects of the _soma_. Absently, he brushes a finger over his lips. He can still feel his brother’s kiss; the after-impression of it is so strong, it almost feels seared against his skin. He wonders if Thor feels the same thing, if he remembers the dream at all. He shouldn’t. Loki made sure of that, but then again, he doesn’t understand the dream world very well. With a sigh, he knows _exactly_ what he has to do before they return to Vanaheim. He needs to speak with the shaman again.

By the time he steps outside, it’s already past noon. He’s greeted by the sight of his brother sitting at a table that’s been set up in the shade in front of their tent. Thor looks extremely relaxed, sitting somewhat slumped in a wooden seat, his legs splayed in front of him. Loki recognizes the posture. It’s the look of pleasant fatigue after a morning of physical activity; a sound enough assessment given that his brother is wearing the local training armor. In his right hand is a large cup of mead. 

“Well, good morning Sleeping Beauty,” Thor says amiably at Loki’s appearance. “Good afternoon, I should say. You’re just in time for lunch.” He gestures at the seat beside him, which is the only other seat at the table. 

Loki sits and examines the spread in front of them. The Chief is not sparing any expense on their behalf. 

“Sleeping Beauty?” he questions idly, as he puts some roast mutton and butter-roasted vegetables on his plate. 

“It’s a Midgardian fairytale that Jane favored –” 

“Okay.” 

“ – about a princess who –” 

“OKAY.” 

Loki shoots his brother a warning glare, which Thor has enough sense to heed. Still, Thor’s smile is smug when he says, “You have a very classical beauty. The Midgardians find you quite attractive.” 

“I’m sure,” Loki agrees dryly. “Once they get past the whole world domination thing.” 

“You’d be surprised,” Thor replies. 

Loki glances at his brother, a little taken aback by how seriously Thor is taking their conversation. Thor is leaning towards him with an earnest expression. 

“They have this thing called _memes_ ,” his brother explains. Loki has no idea what he’s talking about. “They’re humorous pictures or videos usually with pieces of text. And these memes are spread rapidly through their…ah…’Internet.’” Thor pauses. “I think that’s called ‘going viral.’” 

“Does this have a point?”

“Yes!” Thor exclaims, his attention back on his brother. “The point is my favorite meme about the Battle of New York consisted of two pictures put together. The top one was of the Avengers and it said, ‘Six attractive heroes.’ Then the bottom picture was of you and it said, ‘And everyone falls for the villain.’” 

Thor laughs at the joke, while Loki gapes at him. 

“You’ve been spending far too much time on that planet,” Loki finally says when Thor’s laughter subsides. “You don’t find it at all disturbing that the _first alien invasion_ of Midgard with potentially _catastrophic consequences_ has been turned into a… _meme_?”

“Memes, plural,” Thor corrects. He chuckles at his brother’s expression. “I think humor is part of the people’s coping mechanism. Memes are part of their culture. You should be flattered that you’re on them,” he says. “It’s better than the military and political uproar caused by your actions.” 

“And you still think it’s a good idea to bring me there,” Loki mutters, pushing the vegetables around his plate. 

Thor nudges him with his elbow. “You should give them another chance, Loki,” he says seriously. 

Loki gives his brother a sideways look. “I think you mean they should give _me_ another chance,” he corrects. “Though why they would ever want to do that…” he trails off. Before Thor can say another word, Loki holds up his knife. “So help me, if you don’t let me eat the rest of this meal in peace, I will stab you,” he says, perfectly serious. 

Thor somehow manages to hold back his smirk. “How’s the mutton?” he asks instead. 

“Tender,” Loki answers. “And very flavorful.” 

“Excellent,” Thor replies, and proceeds to get the biggest piece for himself. 

Loki’s peaceful silence lasts a whole five minutes before Thor begins speaking again. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The _soma_.” 

“I feel fine.” 

“No aftereffects?” 

“None.” 

“Huh.” 

Loki gives his brother another sideways glance. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just that I’m surprised you agreed to it,” Thor admits. “You’ve never been one for the spirit journey.” 

“I s’ppose not.” 

There’s a pause.

“So?” Thor prods. “What did you learn?” 

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Loki says, his tone a little clipped. “That’s _not_ how spirit journeys work. They’re not a switch you just flip on and everything makes sense.” 

“You’re still puzzling things out then?” 

Loki makes a non-committal sound. 

“What’re you puzzling out?” 

Loki glares at his brother and Thor throws up his hands in mock surrender. 

“All right, all right,” Thor grumbles. “I’ll stop with the questions.” 

The next peaceful silence lasts for another five minutes.

“I’ve been thinking,” Thor says in between bites of mutton. 

Loki sighs. 

“What do you say to spending the rest of the day here and returning to Vanaheim tomorrow?” 

Loki shakes his head fondly. “Neglecting your royal duties already?” he teases. 

“I’m sure Heimdall and Val have everything well in hand,” Thor replies. 

“You call her _Val_?” 

“Don’t you?” 

“Well, no.” 

“What do you call her then?” 

Loki considers this. “I don’t call her anything,” he says after a while. 

“Yeah? And how’s that working for you?” 

“Quite well, actually.” 

“Well, she’s a Valkyrie,” Thor explains. “So, Val.” 

“You do realize she has an actual name?” 

“And since I don’t know what it is,” Thor smoothly replies. “She’s Val.” Suddenly, Thor sits up a little straighter. “Wait a minute,” he says, looking at his brother. “You know what her name is,” he says, half-accusingly.

“I do not,” Loki protests. 

“Yes, you do,” Thor insists. 

“I don’t,” Loki repeats. He sighs again when he can tell that Thor isn’t going to drop this. “I may have an idea,” he finally admits. 

Thor leans a little closer as if Loki is going to divulge an earth-shattering secret. “Well, what is it?” 

“An idea is not certainty,” Loki bristles. 

“With you, it’s usually close enough,” Thor points out. Another jab of the elbow. “So?” 

Loki sits back with exasperation and gives his brother a suspicious look. “You are in exceedingly high spirits today,” he observes. 

Thor grins. He mirrors his brother’s actions, looking very content. “I like it here,” he admits. “It almost feels like a holiday. And I slept well last night,” he adds, as though it were an afterthought. 

“Oh?” Loki says casually. “Pleasant dreams?” 

Thor’s brow furrows. “I can’t remember,” he says. “I think so. But that would be surprising since my dreams haven’t been all that pleasant of late.” 

“You don’t remember your dreams?” 

“Most of the time, I do,” Thor says. “But not last night.” He looks at Loki. “Is that strange?” 

“Not really,” Loki answers, as naturally as possible. “There are people who never remember their dreams. Then there are those who remember the tiniest detail. For most people, it’s hit or miss. You remember some; you don’t remember others.” He’s not about to tell Thor that he suppressed Thor’s dreams last night, that he removed any recollection of them from Thor’s memory. Still, it’s good to have confirmation that the spell worked. “I think staying here another day is a fine idea,” he goes on, returning to their previous subject. 

“After lunch, I can go to the ship and contact Val or Heimdall,” Thor starts to say, but stops at Loki’s amused expression. “What?” 

“Vanaheim isn’t that far away,” Loki reminds. “I can reach them directly.” 

Thor looks confused for a moment until it clicks. _Oh, right. Magic._ “So, you’ll take care of that?” is what he says aloud. 

“Will you let me eat in peace now?” 

Thor’s broad grin says that he will.

* * * * *

After lunch, Loki retreats into the tent he shares with Thor to contact the Valkyrie. Contacting Heimdall would be even easier since the all-seeing god is probably watching them right now, but Loki strangely misses talking to ‘Val.’ It wouldn’t do to let her know that, of course. He sits cross-legged in the middle of the pelts that doubles as the bed and clears his mind. Projecting his consciousness has always come rather easily to him, and once he mastered the pathways of Yggdrasill, traveling those pathways with his mind was quite liberating. As his _seidr_ grew stronger, opening those pathways so that he could physically transport himself even more so.

In his mind’s eye, Loki sees the capital city of Vanaheim. He sees Asgardians mingled with Vanir in the marketplace, the shops and the city streets. He sees the remaining supplies being loaded onto _The Haven_. Near the massive ship is a large makeshift tent where Heimdall is nearing the end of the census. The Gatekeeper looks up as though he can feel Loki’s presence and he nods. 

“My prince,” he says, to the confusion of those around him.

Loki acknowledges Heimdall’s nod with a figurative one of his own, and the Gatekeeper returns to his task. Loki continues his journey, seeking out the Valkyrie. Where would she be at this hour? Of course, he thinks, and heads to the royal training grounds. Sure enough, the Valkyrie is there, efficiently dispatching the Vanir warriors who were foolish enough to spar with her. Loki projects a complete form and takes a seat to enjoy the show. When the last warrior limps off, he claps, bringing more force to bear on the spell to produce the sound. The Valkyrie turns quickly, her defenses still up, but she lowers her guard when she sees him. 

“You’d probably have more luck with the Royal Guard,” Loki informs her as she walks over to him. 

“I’d probably have more luck with you,” she retorts, sheathing her short sword. 

Loki passes his hand through the weapon rack beside him. “Sorry,” he says smiling, and sounding anything but. 

The Valkyrie rolls her eyes but takes a seat beside Loki’s illusion. “And to what do I owe this pleasure, Your Highness?” she asks in her familiar mocking tone. 

“Message from my brother,” Loki replies. “You and Heimdall are to hold the fort until we return tomorrow.” 

“What? Is he playing hooky already?” she says in disbelief. 

“That’s what I told him,” Loki agrees. 

“Royalty,” she says. “Flighty. The lot of you.” 

“Tough being in the royal family’s service, isn’t it?” 

“I’m starting to remember.”

They fall into a companionable silence after that, until the Valkyrie decides to break it. 

“I’m serious about the sparring,” she says suddenly. “When we get back to _The Haven_. I really do need a sparring partner. I can’t very well rough up the farmers.” 

“You could try training those farmers,” Loki suggests. “After the census is complete, Thor will probably start rebuilding Asgardian society. Asgard is a warrior race, so unless something drastic changes, military training will be at the forefront. And guess who’s best qualified to teach that?” He gives her a sweet smile. The look she returns is pure murder, but underneath that Loki can tell that she’s pleased by his compliment. 

“Still,” she says after a moment. “Training new recruits isn’t the same as sparring with an experienced warrior.” She gives him a pointed look. 

“You’re talking to the wrong brother.” 

“I’m not.” At Loki’s amused expression, she continues. “I want a re-match.”

“I _don’t_.” 

“A _proper_ re-match,” she continues, talking right over Loki. When Loki doesn’t say anything, she leans a little closer to him and drops her voice, even though they’re alone in the training grounds. “I know what you did,” she tells him quietly. 

Loki is unfazed by her actions and suggestion. “Perhaps you can enlighten me?” he says with the arch of a brow. 

“You threw the fight,” she says flatly. “After you stole my memories and saw what Hela had done, you knew my intentions. And you realized that the fastest way to see your brother again was to let me capture you and bring you to him. So, you threw the fight. You _are_ as clever as they say, Trickster.”

Loki finds his admiration for the Valkyrie growing. She would be a worthy adversary…and a powerful ally. He doesn’t deny her logic. She’s perfectly right. After a long moment, he concedes, “You were highly motivated.” 

Her smile is triumphant. “A re-match,” she states, standing up. “Back on _The Haven_. Until then, Heimdall and I will make sure that everything doesn’t fall apart until Your Majesties return,” she adds. With her now customary mocking bow, she walks away.

* * * * *

Back in the tent, Loki opens his eyes. He feels like he’s had a very busy day, though he’s only been awake for a little over two hours. Next order of business? Finding the shaman. Outside, Thor is nowhere in sight. Loki wonders who to ask about the shaman until he sees the young warrior who was on sentry duty when he and Thor first entered the tribe’s area. He catches the young man’s eye and waves him over.

“Hama, isn’t it?” Loki questions when the warrior is standing in front of him. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hama answers. 

“Would you know where I could find your shaman?” 

Hama looks surprised but quickly nods. “He likes to keep to himself,” the warrior explains. “But I could take you to his home. It’s beyond the village.” 

“Please,” Loki tells him. 

“Follow me,” Hama says. 

The path they embark on is familiar to Loki, though it looks different during the day. The campfire where Loki drank the soma is nothing but ash, but the stones that marked the campfire remain. Hama walks past it and further up the trail to a tent that Loki didn’t see during the night. 

“Elder?” Hama calls, as they approach. 

The flap of the tent rustles and a head of white hair pokes out. “Ah,” the shaman says. “I’ve been expecting you. Come in,” he says, waving them both inside. 

Hama and Loki enter. The tent is much more spacious inside than Loki would’ve guessed based on its appearance. He wonders if it is a depth spell. The shaman’s twinkling eyes at Loki’s quick observation confirms Loki’s suspicions. 

“Thank you, Hama,” the shaman tells the young warrior. “For bringing the Prince here. Some refreshment for your trouble,” he adds, handing him a cup of tea. 

It appears the shaman really was waiting for them since tea for three has been laid out on the carpeted floor. The three of the sit around the low-burning fire that keeps the teapot warm. Once the shaman has finished serving Loki his tea and pours another cup for himself, he turns towards his guest. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

“Considering,” Loki answers. He didn’t expect Hama to stay for this conversation, but it doesn’t appear like the young warrior is leaving any time soon. He’s begun to dig into the sweets that the shaman has prepared to go with the tea. Loki focuses his attention on the elderly man. “How many?” he asks vaguely, somehow knowing the shaman will understand the oblique question. 

The white-haired man gives him a wizened grin. “You already know the answer to that question,” he says. 

Chagrined, Loki keeps his grimace in check. “Nine,” he states. 

The shaman nods in confirmation.

“And what will the outcome be at the end of the nine?” 

“That I cannot say,” the shaman replies. “The outcome depends upon you.” 

“But you’re a _seer_ ,” Loki presses. “You must have some idea.” 

“I see the possibilities,” the shaman concedes. “But this is _your_ journey, not mine. The outcome will depend on you.” He gives Loki an indulgent smile. “Now, son of Odin. Why don’t you ask what you really came to ask?” 

“Why did you choose the dream world? It is not my strength.” 

The shaman’s indulgent smile grows. “I did not choose the dream world,” he informs Loki. “You did that when you eased your brother’s distress several nights past. The _soma_ was merely acting on your initiative.”

“And that can’t be changed?” 

“Not after last night.” 

Loki takes a deep breath. He’s stuck with the dreamscape then. Thor’s dreamscape. 

“What are the rules of the dream world?” 

“That you will have to learn for yourself.” 

“Is there anything you can tell me that will be remotely useful?” 

The shaman chuckles at Loki’s exasperation. To his left, Loki can tell that Hama is also trying to hide a smile behind his cup. 

But when the shaman’s humor fades, his expression grows serious as he says, “I can tell you this. The dream world evens the playing field between you and your brother. Your _seidr_ is very powerful, but in your brother’s dreamscape, he is the one in control.”

Loki ponders the shaman’s words as he drinks his tea. “I accept this challenge that you have presented me with,” he eventually tells the shaman when he looks at him again. “And I will master the rules of the dream world. The playing field will not be even for long.” 

The mirth is gone from the shaman’s eyes. “Of that I have no doubt,” he says gravely. “You have always held great power over your brother, whether you acknowledge it or not. It is what to do with that power, this journey will teach you.” 

The shadows in the tent seem to lengthen and Hama glances about him surreptitiously. The burst of _seidr_ is unmistakable and Loki wonders if he is the one causing it or the shaman. He breathes deeply and centers himself. The shadows recede.

The shaman turns to his young guest and strikes up a conversation. It takes Loki a moment to realize that Hama is a pupil of sorts to the shaman. Interesting. Loki allows himself to fade into the background as he considers his next move. 

Nine. The magic number is nine. On some level, Loki did know this. The number nine is sacred to Asgardians. Thus, it will take nine more visits into Thor’s dreamscape to complete his journey. Spirit journeys are about overcoming obstacles and finding one’s path. He isn’t surprised that Thor is both his obstacle and his path. That’s a familiar refrain. If Loki’s being honest, the thought of nine sojourns into his brother’s unconscious is a little daunting. He has no way of knowing or preparing himself for what he’ll encounter each time he enters his brother’s dreams. Given Thor’s volatile state (his brother did say that his dreams haven’t been pleasant of late) and the intensity of last night’s dream, it raises the question of whether Loki will be able to complete the journey at all. What are the consequences if he fails? 

“I have something for you,” the shaman says, snapping Loki out of his thoughts. Loki wonders how much of the conversation he’s missed, but his companions don’t seem offended. “It’s outside,” the shaman adds, standing up. Loki and Hama follow suit. 

Once outside, the shaman instructs them to wait by the path while he wanders round the back of the tent. It isn’t long before he returns with a small gray bundle in his arms, which he passes to Loki. Loki’s so surprised that he almost drops the ball of fur. 

“He will help you,” the shaman says. “On your journey.” 

“He’s your spirit animal,” Hama helpfully supplies. 

“Shouldn’t they be bigger than this?” Loki asks, holding up the pup. It’s a wolf pup. 

“That one will grow very big and very strong,” the shaman says. “He is a worthy companion for one such as yourself.” 

“I’m not sure how practical it is bringing a direwolf into space,” Loki comments doubtfully. 

“You can’t leave him,” Hama says, scandalized. “He’s your spirit animal!” 

“Surprising,” Loki mutters as the pup begins to lick him enthusiastically. “I’d have thought my spirit animal would be a snake.” He’s quick enough to catch the glint in the shaman’s eyes. “Is that an option?” he asks a little sharply. 

“The pup is a better choice for this journey,” the shaman says with finality. 

“I guess that’s a ‘no,’” Loki translates, doing his best to tuck the ball of fur into the crook of his left arm. “Thanks for the very educational afternoon. And the…pet.” 

“May you complete your journey whole and unharmed,” the shaman says in farewell. 

Loki manages to keep a straight face, but when he and Hama are further down the path, he says to his escort, “Is he always so ominous?” 

Hama shrugs. “I think it’s part of the job description,” he replies and that answer makes Loki laugh.

* * * * *

“Well, what is this?” Thor exclaims when he catches sight of the pup happily trailing beside Loki as the two of them re-enter the village.

The pup was such a ball of energy that Loki had to put him down on the way back. Any worries he had of the pup wandering off were quickly dispelled. The animal was exceedingly attached to him. Having little experience with wolves or direwolves save for Thor’s hunting trips, he had asked Hama, “Do they always get attached so quickly?” 

“No,” Hama had admitted. “But then again, he _is_ your spirit animal.” 

Hama had left him on the outskirts of the village. 

“Back to sentry duty,” the young warrior had explained. “Perhaps I’ll see you later?” he’d suggested, a little shyly. 

“Come sit with me at the evening meal,” Loki had invited. “My brother will also be pleased to see you.” 

Now, Thor is crouching at his feet, petting the excitable pup while cooing, “Hello, little one.” He grins as he looks up at his brother. “Did you find him?”

“No,” Loki answers. “He was given to me. Apparently, he’s my spirit animal.” 

Thor nods approvingly. “A fine choice,” he agrees. 

“Thor,” Loki says patiently. “You honestly don’t expect me to bring him to space?” 

“Why not?” 

“Do you know what he is?” 

“A wolf pup.” 

“A _dire_ wolf pup,” Loki corrects. “Fully grown, he literally won’t be able to fit in the corridors of the ship.”

“We’ll be at Midgard long before then,” Thor counters. He rubs behind the pup’s ears. “And if we’re not, you can always –” here Thor vaguely waggles his fingers “– magic him or something.” 

“Because magic works like that,” Loki comments. 

“Doesn’t it?” 

Loki doesn’t reply. Magic actually does work like that. 

“Does he have a name?” 

“No.” 

“Can I name him?” 

Looking down at his brother, crouched at his feet and playing with the pup, Loki is struck by how youthful Thor seems to him. How relaxed. How so much like a child he can still be, despite everything that has happened. His brother, the King of Asgard, is a great man-child. 

“You are such a child,” he says, voicing his thoughts but allowing the fondness to seep into his voice. 

“Is that a yes?” 

“Fine. You can name him.” 

Thor picks up the pup and gets to his feet. “Now, what shall we call you?” he murmurs, walking back to their tent.

* * * * *

The evening meal is more traditional that night, but Thor and Loki are still expected to dine with the Chief, his family and the village elders. Hama approaches their group cautiously – he’s far too lowly to sit with the tribe’s leaders and visiting royalty – stopping once he sees the Chief’s curious expression. Loki intervenes, telling the Chief that Hama is his guest. The Chief nods and Hama bows respectfully before taking the vacant place on Loki’s left, which Loki had left unoccupied for him. On Loki’s right is Thor and in between them is the playful (but still unnamed) pup. As much as the pup enjoys Thor’s company, he can’t be separated from Loki for long, which Loki thinks is another odd manifestation of the pup’s immediate attachment to him.

“All quiet on sentry duty?” Loki asks, as Hama sits beside him. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” Hama says, mindful of the formality of the group. 

“Hama!” Thor greets him, leaning across his brother’s back to clap Hama on the shoulder. “Good to see you! I missed you at training this afternoon.” 

“Ah, well, I escorted your brother to see the shaman,” Hama explains. “And then afterwards I was on duty. I was sorry to miss training as well.” 

“Oh?” Thor says, his gaze drifting over to Loki at this discovery. “You visited the shaman again?” 

“Where do you think I got him?” Loki asks, motioning to the pup who’s gnawing the meat off a bone. 

“That explains a lot,” Thor murmurs. He looks like he wants to say more, but gets pulled into conversation by the Chief on his right. 

“It’s a great honor to sit with the village elders and visiting royalty,” Hama says quietly to Loki. “It’ll be many years before I earn the right as a warrior, if I ever do.” He seems terribly shy. Loki begins piling food on his plate since he’s starting to think that Hama won’t do it himself. 

“And is being a warrior the only way to ascend the ranks?” Loki asks lightly. 

“A great warrior is prized above all else,” Hama explains. “Proving yourself in battle also shows courage, honor, loyalty, sacrifice and a quickness of mind.” 

Loki nods. The reasoning is very familiar to him, very reminiscent of his own youth and adolescence. “I suppose great deeds in battle also teaches you strategy, politics and leadership.” 

“Yes,” Hama agrees enthusiastically. 

“And yet,” Loki says, pouring Hama some mead. “From what I understood today, you are also the shaman’s pupil.” 

Hama freezes, eyes darting about nervously as though afraid someone might have overheard Loki. He swallows his food with difficulty before looking at the Prince. “That is not common knowledge,” he whispers. 

“I know how to keep a secret,” Loki assures him. “And in turn, you can keep mine.” His eyes travel to Thor to make sure that Hama understands his meaning. The young warrior looks between the two Asgardians before he nods to Loki. Loki’s smile slices a little sharper. “Is there something shameful in being his pupil?” he asks, very quietly. 

“No, of course not,” Hama quickly says. “It’s an honor of a different kind. But if my lessons were known, I would be expected to give up combat and turn to the mastery of _seidr_ , to follow in the shaman’s footsteps and become his apprentice.”

“And you don’t want to do that?” Loki translates. 

“I don’t understand why I can’t do both,” Hama admits. “Don’t you do both? The shaman said that you are a great practitioner of _seidr_ but you also go on campaigns with your brother. You fight by his side. Didn’t you save the people of Asgard?” 

Loki is taken aback, but he doesn’t show it. Twice today he has been identified as a warrior, first by the Valkyrie and now by Hama. It’s not that he doubts his own ability. He will never have Thor’s brute strength, but he maximizes his own combat strengths – his speed, his agility, the blending of _seidr_ in combat situations. He knows that he can be a formidable warrior, though among Asgardians he is often underestimated due to his size and the prejudices against sorcery. No matter how great his sorcery, it will never be valued as much as Thor’s strength among their people. Even Odin, the most powerful of _seidr_ practitioners, had never openly flaunted his magic. Odin had been the God of War above all else, then the God of Poetry to immortalize his accomplishments.

Loki considers Hama’s question carefully, knowing that the young man expects an answer. Finally, he says, “What you say is true, though there are many who would disagree. Asgardian society is very similar to your own, where being a warrior is prized above all else. I could do both because I am a Prince. My skill in _seidr_ manifested at a young age, but of course, I still underwent all the appropriate weapons training for my station. As I grew older, I concentrated more on sorcery, but incorporated it into my fighting.” Loki tilts his head, remembering those early days when warriors whispered the word, ‘cheater’ behind his back or called the use of his magic ‘dishonorable.’ He glances at Hama. “That, in itself, was…controversial.” He pauses. “I understand your plight, Hama, better than you may realize. But I have no advice to give you.” 

“Well, at least you’re honest,” Hama says, an admission that makes Loki smile. Honesty is a trait not often associated with him.

“Tell me,” Loki continues, feeling like he’s earned the young man’s trust or at the very least, his openness, “more about the spirit journey.” 

“What do you want to know?” 

“Have you been on one yourself?” 

“Of course,” Hama answers. “It’s a right of passage among my people. I wouldn’t have been allowed to train as a warrior if I hadn’t completed my spirit journey.” 

Loki already knows this, but he continues smoothly. “And what typically happens during the initiation?” 

“The spirit journey is a test of the soul,” Hama explains. “But it’s also a guide to a physical journey each initiate undertakes.” He hesitates before saying, “I don’t think it’s the same for you, though. There are many kinds of spirit journeys.” 

“And what do you think my kind is?” 

“Mental,” Hama answers immediately. “Psychological. You face a different sort of test.” He drops his voice. “The dream world can be…challenging…unpredictable.” 

Loki nods, thinking that the word ‘journey’ has multiple meanings in his case. For one, he’s on a literal space journey to Midgard. That would take care of the physical aspect. Added to that are the pitfalls of his brother’s dreamscape. He’s beginning to think that _not_ drinking the _soma_ would’ve been a far less stressful option. 

“Is there a time limit for these journeys?” 

“For the initiates, yes,” Hama says. “Our journeys involve a kind of quest, something that must be retrieved or won.” Again, he hesitates. “But that’s probably not the same for you.” 

“I get the feeling that my journey isn’t an ordinary type of journey,” Loki dryly remarks. 

“No, Your Highness,” Hama agrees with a smile. “But I don’t think anything with you is ever ‘ordinary.’” He pauses and looks at Loki thoughtfully. “Is this why you invited me here tonight? To talk about spirit journeys?” 

Loki flashes Hama a genuinely warm smile. “You’re a clever young man,” he tells Hama. “And remember, this is our secret.”

The rest of the evening follows a different pattern from the feast the night before. It is Thor who retires early, while Loki stays out with Hama as the young man shows him what he has learned from the shaman. He can tell that Hama has skill, that _seidr_ also comes to him naturally. The shaman obviously sees the same potential or he wouldn’t have taken him as a possible apprentice. By the end of the night, Hama is no closer to deciding his path (that wasn’t the goal anyway), but it has helped him that he could use sorcery so freely and easily in front of Loki and not be judged for it. Aside from his mother’s approval and his father’s somewhat distant but watchful eye, it hadn’t been the same for Loki when he was growing up. 

By the time Loki enters the tent he shares with Thor, his brother is fast asleep, somewhat rudely settled in the middle of the bed of pelts and facing Loki’s side. Normally, this would’ve annoyed Loki, but Thor’s position makes things easier tonight. He undresses and slips in beside brother, also facing him. He recognizes that the spell he’s chosen requires physical contact to enter his brother’s dreamscape and that’ll be difficult to manage once they return to _The Haven_ and their separate cabins. It’s problem he’ll solve later as he takes a deep breath and places his palm on his brother’s forehead.

* * * * *

Loki opens his eyes to find himself in Asgard. The city is bathed in a golden light. He recognizes the expansive palace gardens, specifically the private gardens of his mother. There’s no one about, but he can feel the steady hum of the palace as people go about their daily business. Then. Voices. Young voices. Familiar voices. Loki follows their chatter. He leans against a column behind a balustrade that overlooks a secluded courtyard below. He remembers this day.

In the courtyard are the ten-year-old version of himself and the twelve-year-old version of his brother. He has just finished a lesson with his mother, who first began instructing him in the use of _seidr_ six months ago. He is progressing quickly, much quicker than either she or Odin anticipated. These special lessons have separated him from Thor a little, but their bond remains strong. Thor would wait for him and once he was done, he would meet his brother in their mother’s gardens, not far from her royal rooms where she taught Loki about magic. 

Loki remembers this day because this was the day that Thor’s opinion of magic changed. Loki hadn’t noticed it at the time, but with hindsight the change was unmistakable. Until then, his brother had been supportive of his endeavors and that’s why he always met Thor after his lessons. He was eager to show his brother what he’d learned, and Thor was just as eager to see. They were still at that age where they shared everything. 

But this day…this had been the day Loki had first shown Thor the spell of transformation. It was the most advanced spell he’d learned yet. It was practically unheard of that a ten-year-old would even attempt something so advanced and yet Loki had not only tried, he’d succeeded.

His adult self watches now as his ten-year-old self explains to Thor what he’s about to do. He doesn’t think Thor can follow everything he’s saying, but his brother listens raptly enough and Loki enjoys his captive audience. By the Norns, was he always such an insufferable know-it-all? The answer is ‘yes.’ Then ten-year-old Loki is stepping away from Thor, clearing some space around himself. 

“What’re you going to change into?” he hears Thor ask. 

“It’ll be a surprise,” ten-year-old Loki answers. 

Loki knows _exactly_ what he’s going to change into. He’d wanted it to be impressive. His mother chose the form of a sparrow; his father preferred the great eagle. But Loki? He wanted to be sleek and keen-sighted, swift and predatory. He chose the falcon. 

When the transformation happens, Loki keeps his gaze on his brother. He wonders if he can see it – the precise moment when Thor’s awe changed into something else. He studies Thor’s expression – the look of pure delight and amazement as falcon-Loki sweeps into the sky. Thor lets out a cheer at his brother’s success and there is nothing but joy there. Maybe a little wistfulness that can’t join his brother, but certainly no malice or any kind of ill will. He’s still watching young Thor when a voice speaks beside him. 

“This was the moment I realized how powerful you were, how magic just wasn’t about parlor tricks or foolish games. This spell was true power. And I understood for the first time how different we were. Fundamentally, so.”

Loki startles at the sound of his brother’s voice. He doesn’t look to his left, although he’s aware that Thor is standing there. Rule No. 1 of the dream world, he tells himself. Your brother can appear at will. Don’t assume that the scene you’re watching is his only manifestation. 

“Your power is elemental, Thor,” Loki says aloud, his gaze still firmly fixed on the young Thor following the falcon’s movements. “The raw strength of lightning and thunder. It’s a gift.” He can feel Thor watching _him_ and not the scene below. 

“You’re here again,” Thor says thoughtfully. 

“Again?” 

“You were here last night.” 

Ah. 

Rule No. 2. He can suppress his brother’s memories of his dreams during the day, but Thor retains those memories during the dream state. Useful, Loki muses, to keep a narrative going instead of starting each night with a clean slate.

“Yes, I was,” he says, since there’s no point in lying. 

Finally, he looks to his left. It’s not the Thor of Svartalfheim that stands beside him, but the Thor of the present with his short, dark hair and eye patch. His brother clears his throat, dropping his gaze before looking at Loki. 

“You told me last night that your injury was real,” he says. “On Svartalfheim.” 

“It was.” 

Thor shakes his head. “I cannot imagine, Loki,” he says, a note of disbelief mingled with awe in his voice. “What it took to create such an illusion when your life hung in the balance. That is also true power.” 

Loki remains silent. It feels very strange to talk about sorcery so openly with his brother. 

“There’s a part of me that’s always been fearful of your magic,” Thor admits. “It’s not something I understand, not really. And I have no talent for it. Few do,” he adds. He gestures to the courtyard. “I was jealous that you’d found something you could call your own that I couldn’t be a part of. I thought magic was taking you away from me. And I envied the time you spent with mother. You were always closer to her than I was.” 

“Perhaps,” Loki says. “But you take after her more than I do. You have her heart and her warmth, her compassion and her kindness.” 

“And you are more like father than you will ever admit.” 

“Please," Loki says wearily. "Let’s not go there." 

Thor chuckles at his reaction. “Another time, perhaps,” he concedes. 

The silence that falls between them is peaceful. 

“May I see it?” Thor asks after a while. 

“See what?” 

“The scar.” 

“How do you know I have one?” 

“Because the injury was real.” 

“And how do you know I _still_ have it?” 

“Because it’s not something you would glamor away.” 

Loki considers his brother’s request. Then he turns to face Thor, lifting his tunic to reveal the scar on his abdomen where Algrim, the last of the Kursed, had speared him. Thor instinctively reaches for the scar, fingers hovering over it. He looks at his brother, silently asking permission. Loki’s nod is almost imperceptible. Thor brushes his thumb across the scar, his hand warm on Loki’s abdomen. Before Loki realizes it, Thor has slid down to his knees and is pressing his lips to the scar. Loki’s intake of breath is sharp, but he remains perfectly still. Thor is no longer kissing his scar, but he is resting his head against Loki and doesn’t seem inclined to move. Loki reaches down and cups Thor’s jaw, his thumb running over Thor’s bearded cheek. His brother turns his head and kisses Loki’s palm. Loki remembers the shaman’s words, _You have always held great power over your brother, whether you acknowledge it or not._ He can feel that power now as Thor kneels penitent before him. It makes him heady.

“Do you like being on your knees for me?” he asks almost tenderly, his thumb still stroking Thor’s cheek. 

“Yes,” Thor says, practically nuzzling Loki’s palm. 

“And what else would you like?” 

“To taste you.” 

Loki’s mind is spinning. Is this what the spirit journey is about? Sex and power? It is the lowest common denominator between them. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so surprised to find it here when everything else has been stripped away. He can already feel the heat pooling in his groin. The tension between them is palpable like the electricity that crackles at Thor’s touch. His brother’s bright blue eye is blown wide with desire as he waits, expectantly, for Loki’s response. 

“I think I would like that as well,” Loki finally says.

Before he finishes speaking, Thor’s hands are on him, unzipping his pants and sliding the leather down. His brother is ravenous. A few quick licks are followed by a gentle suckle and then Thor is swallowing him whole. Loki bites back a strangled cry at the sudden heat and wetness, his hips jerking forward into the warm cavern of his brother’s mouth. His right hand lands in Thor’s hair and for the first time, he truly misses his brother’s longer locks. He grips Thor’s hair nonetheless, feeling his brother’s hands on his backside as though encouraging him to take his pleasure. Loki takes the hint, rocking into his brother’s mouth. Thor opens obediently. It isn’t enough. Loki thrusts deeper, expecting his brother to gag but Thor only relaxes his throat and seems to take him deeper. 

They fall into a rhythm, and Thor moves one of his hands to Loki’s hip while the other he keeps on the back of his brother’s thigh to steady him. When Loki nears his climax, he grips his brother’s hair tighter in warning and is about to pull out, but Thor will have none of it. He bears down even more, sucking with such force that Loki feels like his orgasm is being torn out of him. He comes, almost slumped against his brother but Thor bears his weight. He eases his grip on his brother’s hair (if it had been longer, he might’ve ripped out some of the strands), dropping his hands onto Thor’s shoulders to steady himself. Thor is patiently licking him clean as Loki’s breathing begins to even out. He glances down at his brother who has finished his task and is sitting back on his heels. Loki’s gaze drops further to his brother’s groin where he can see an uncomfortable bulge, but Thor doesn’t seem bothered by it. He looks content, almost drowsy, his gaze half-lidded. When his tongue darts out to trace his lower lip as if chasing the last of Loki’s essence, Loki wants to drag him up and kiss him.

Instead, he slides to the floor so that he’s kneeling in front of his brother, his right hand immediately palming Thor through his leathers. Thor makes a surprised sound that is drowned by Loki’s kiss and then he’s kissing back eagerly, pressing closer to Loki and his brother’s questing hand. Loki manages to pull down Thor’s leathers; he grips Thor’s leaking cock in his hand, admiring his brother’s girth. 

“Faster,” Thor urges, breaking their kiss. 

“Greedy,” Loki whispers, nipping his brother’s earlobe.

But he does what Thor asks, his hand forming a warm tunnel of friction for his brother’s cock. Thor growls in response and Loki increases his pace, remembering just how much pressure to apply and when. He brings Thor over the edge as his brother holds him tightly, Thor’s teeth sinking into his shoulder when he comes.

* * * * *

Loki awakes with a jolt, skin flushed and sweaty. He can feel the mess on his stomach and knows that Thor must be in a similar state. He cleans them both up with a simple spell, removing all evidence of the night’s activities. His hand is still on his brother’s forehead, maintaining Thor’s peaceful sleep. Even in the darkness he can read the contentment on his brother’s face; it looks like the drowsy bliss he witnessed when Thor was kneeling before him. Loki focuses his mind. Then he whispers the words to remove the dream from his brother’s memory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the thing. When I began writing, I estimated this fic would be about 15, 000 words. But I've blown past that and basically just finished the set-up. So, here's where your suggestions would be awesome. Nine is an important number in Norse mythology, so I thought I'd use it for this story. But if each chapter features a dream (and I have 7 more to go), then this fic is going to be _really_ long. Don't worry. I'm committed. 
> 
> But what I need are more dream sequences. I only have five, so that leaves four open slots. This is where you guys come in. If there's anything you think is important to Thor and Loki's relationship - a scene from childhood, a scene from the movies, anything really - let me know. Maybe I can use it. Otherwise, I might just end up writing a lot of sex dreams - which, hey, isn't a bad thing. But this might turn into a very different kind of story. Haha. 
> 
> So, let me know in the comments or hit me up on Tumblr (morrow-dim.tumblr.com).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everybody! 
> 
> Firstly...wow. You really came through for me last chapter. I'm amazed (and so thankful!) for the generosity and inventiveness of readers. I now have tons of ideas for the remaining dreams; I'm still sorting and organizing them. Suddenly nine doesn't seem like enough. So, THANK YOU! (And the suggestion box remains open if people still have ideas. There's no such thing as too many ideas. I file everything away for potential future use.) 
> 
> Secondly, the pup gets a name in this chapter. Hold off on your grumbling until the note at the end. 
> 
> On with the fic!

Loki feels an incredible sense of peace in the royal Vanaheim library. It’s a library that he’s very familiar with having spent years studying magic with Freyja and the most powerful practitioners of _seidr_ on Vanaheim. He knows the Vanaheim royal library almost as well as he knew the lost libraries of Asgard. This whole scene – him at a great table, alone and surrounded by books – could be taken out of his youth were it not for the sleeping pup curled up in his lap. Loki strokes the pup as he turns another page from the tome that he’s perusing.

Animals, of course, are not allowed in the royal library. Loki had meant to leave the pup in the suite that he shares with Thor, but the little thing wouldn’t stop whimpering and scratching at the door when Loki had left his bedchamber. Loki had walked about six paces before turning around. The pup had practically jumped into his arms before he’d even bent down to pick him up. 

“Whatever am I going to do with you?” Loki had murmured as he tucked his spirit animal into the left breast side of his long green jacket and then cast a glamor to hide the bulge. “Now hush,” Loki had told him and then left the suite. 

The pup hadn’t caused any trouble, and once Loki had collected the books he’d needed and settled at a comfortable table, he’d removed the glamor and allowed the pup to sleep in his lap. Checking the ornate library clock, Loki knows that he doesn’t have much time left. _The Haven_ is set to leave Vanaheim in less than an hour. He scans the titles scattered around him and selects four volumes, one on wolves native to the Vanaheim system and three about magic and the dream world. He’s certain Freyja will allow him to take them. Well, maybe not the slim volume on elvish magic and dreams from Alfheim. Loki can tell that it’s a rare text, probably borrowed from the Light Elves.

He stretches and feels a crick in his neck from the hours that he’s been reading. There’s also a twinge a little lower down near his shoulder. Gingerly, Loki touches the tender flesh there. He was very surprised to wake up that morning and discover a bruise blooming where Thor had bit him in the dream. The bruise was easily covered, but it had prompted him to go to the royal library shortly after they’d returned to Vanaheim. He needed to learn more about the dream world, and not just from practical experience. 

“Time to go, little one,” Loki says now, gently waking the pup. The pup looks at him with bleary blue eyes. He opens the left breast side of his jacket again and the pup clambers in, tucking himself into a vertical ball and going back to sleep. Loki is about to cast the same glamor as before when a cough stops him. 

The goddess Freyja is standing at the head of his table, her typically regal self but with an amused expression on her face as she pointedly looks at the sleeping pup. 

“I had thought to find you here,” she tells Loki. “But I thought you would be alone.” 

Loki doesn’t bother with the glamor as he stands up and walks towards her. When he stops to show her the pup, she reaches in and rubs the pup on the top of his head. 

“Who is this?” she asks him, as the pup barely stirs. 

“My spirit animal, I’m told,” Loki replies. 

“Your spirit animal?” Freyja repeats with a slightly disbelieving arch of her golden brow. 

“It was an interesting trip to Hogun’s home world.” 

“So I gathered,” Freyja says, picking up one of the books from the table and leafing through it. “What’s all this?”

“Research,” Loki easily says. With a wave of his left hand, the four books that he’d selected levitate to them. “I was hoping I could bring these with me,” he tells Freyja. “If you can spare them.” 

The goddess scans the titles and glances at the pup again. It doesn’t take her long to put two and two together. 

“You’re welcome to take them,” she says. “Except for this one.” She plucks the slim-volume book on elvish magic out of the air as Loki releases his hold. “This is not mine to give.” 

Loki flashes her a winsome smile. “I had to try,” he says, charmingly. 

“I know you did,” she replies.

A leather satchel with the Vanir royal seal materializes in Freyja’s right hand and she puts the other three books inside before handing the satchel to Loki. Loki swings the satchel over his shoulder before slipping his arm into Freyja’s waiting one. She plans to escort him out of the library. They walk in a peaceful silence and the action feels so familiar to Loki that an air of melancholy comes over him. Freyja pats him on the arm, as if sensing his mood. 

“You remind me so much of her,” Loki says. 

“She was my cousin,” Freyja answers. “We were like sisters. As close as you and Thor were once. Well, perhaps not _that_ close,” she amends, giving him a sly sidelong glance.

Loki feels his cheeks warm, but he keeps his gaze ahead. “We don’t do that anymore,” he tells Freyja calmly, studiously not thinking of last night’s traitorous dream. 

“I wouldn’t judge you if you did,” Freyja says, just as calmly. “I don’t have the right. And it’s not as if you’re brothers by blood to begin with.” 

Loki knows to what Freyja is referring. It is a poorly kept secret that she and her brother were born out of incest, and that their mother was banished from Vanaheim once the deed was found out. Freyr and Freyja’s origin is the one great taboo subject in all of Vanaheim. 

She turns to face him as they reach the great doors of the library. “You are welcome to stay,” she tells him. “Even if Thor chooses to go.” Then her gaze lands on the satchel and she nods. “Though I suppose you and your brother have unfinished business,” she adds. She looks him straight in the eye. “Vanaheim is always open to you, Loki, if at the end of your journey you wish to return.” 

“Thank you, Freyja,” Loki says sincerely. “For your hospitality, your generosity and the open invitation. It is not something I will not forget.” 

“See that you don’t,” she says, leaning forward to kiss him on the cheek. Then with the flick of her wrist, the double doors of the library swing open. 

To Loki’s surprise, Thor and Heimdall are waiting in the foyer of the library. Thor turns towards them, his facing breaking out in a wide grin when he sees the pup nestled in Loki’s long jacket. 

“Hello, little one,” Thor says again, reaching in and brushing the pup’s head with his fingers. 

“Should we just name him, ‘Little One’?” Loki asks dryly. 

“Not unless you’re being ironic,” Thor returns. His grin doesn’t fade. “I’ll think of something,” he says reassuringly. “Just give me a little more time.” 

“He’s going to be very popular onboard _The Haven_ ,” Heimdall comments. To Loki, even the Gatekeeper’s golden gaze has softened somewhat as he looks at the pup. 

“You mean spoiled,” Loki translates. 

“Freyja,” Thor says, embracing his aunt warmly. “Thank you for everything.” 

“It was the least we could do,” Freyja replies graciously. “You are all welcome here, whenever you choose to return.” 

She looks at Loki as she says the last few words, and Loki knows that both Heimdall and his brother are astute enough to have caught her meaning. He inclines his head to her and then the three of them take their leave.

* * * * *

Loki spends the next three days holed up in his cabin poring over the books from the Vanaheim royal library, only going out for meals and giving the pup some exercise. He’s also devised a magical obstacle course on the floor of his cabin to keep the pup occupied. When the pup has finally expended his seemingly boundless energy, he joins Loki on the bed, often curling up against him in some way. Meanwhile, Loki learns the new spells and paths of the dream world meticulously, but he can’t test his new knowledge without going into a dream state. He manipulates his own dream world when he enters the dream state, knowing the true test will be the ability to manipulate Thor’s dream world.

On the fourth day, Thor enters his cabin after lunch. 

“Fenrir,” he announces, sitting on Loki’s bed. 

“What?” Loki says absently, his attention still on the passage that he’s reading. 

“You are Fenrir,” Thor tells the pup, who has jumped into his lap. 

Loki’s head snaps up. “Fenrir?” he repeats incredulously, swiveling his desk chair to look at Thor. “That means ‘wolf.’ You want to name a wolf, ‘Wolf’? That’s like calling a cat, ‘Cat’ or a dog, ‘Dog.’ It took you _four days_ to come up with _that_?” 

Thor ignores his brother’s snide words. “It’s a beautiful name,” he says, unfazed. “And this one,” he continues, rubbing Fenrir’s head, “is going to be a very special wolf.”

Loki eyes his brother a little critically. He hasn’t seen much of Thor since they left Vanaheim (he hasn’t seen much of anyone, really, even managing to stave off the Valkyrie’s demand for a re-match), and though Thor is smiling at Fenrir, he’s looking a little worse for wear. 

“What have you been doing?” 

“Oh, the usual,” Thor says offhandedly. “Running the ship, ruling a kingdom.” His brother is trying to be cavalier about it, but Loki can hear real fatigue in his voice and he buries the smidgen of guilt that he hasn’t been helping these past few days. 

“How about you?” Thor asks after a moment. 

“Studying.” 

“About?” 

“Spells.” 

It’s true, Loki thinks. He just left out the part about the spells relating specifically to the dream world. 

“Hmm…” Thor looks thoughtful, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gives in to his fatigue and lies back on Loki’s bed, his legs over the bed’s side. Fenrir immediately climbs over him and settles on his chest. 

“We’re meeting with Heimdall and the Valkyrie in about an hour,” Loki reminds, turning back to his book. The meeting is the closest thing Thor has come to reconvening the former Council of Asgard.

“Then wake me in an hour,” Thor says, his eye drifting shut. 

“You’ll probably be more comfortable in your own bed,” Loki suggests. 

Thor makes a non-committal sound and doesn’t move. 

“Can you at least lie down properly?” Loki presses. “I'm getting a cramp just looking at you.” 

Thor finally opens his eye and glares at Loki while he reaches down to remove his boots. Then he stretches out and shifts into a more comfortable position. Although he dislodges Fenrir for a moment, the tenacious pup climbs on top of him again. 

“Satisfied?” Thor says. He doesn’t wait for Loki’s reply before he shuts his eye again. 

Loki doesn’t say anything. He continues his reading, discreetly watching his brother through his peripheral vision. Thor seems to fall asleep immediately. Still, Loki waits until he’s certain of Thor’s deep even breathing. Fenrir seems to be paying attention too, since he carefully gets off Thor and pads to the edge of the bed nearest Loki and looks at him very pointedly. 

“I _know_ ,” Loki tells the pup.

Unconvinced, Fenrir jumps off the bed and begins tugging the hem of Loki’s pants. 

“You really are my spirit animal,” Loki mutters, bending down to pick up the pup and then depositing him back onto the bed. 

Fenrir looks up at him expectantly as Loki decides how to go about this. His bed is a single, little more than a bunk bed. It’s not big enough to comfortably fit two grown men, and certainly not if one of them is Thor’s size. Thankfully, Thor has positioned himself nearer to the wall, giving Loki some room. Loki sits down beside his brother, leaning against the other wall but not quite stretching his legs. Now _he’s_ the one who’s cramped, but at least Thor is comfortable. Fenrir settles snugly between the two of them, head on his paws but still looking at Loki expectantly. 

“All right,” Loki tells the impatient pup. “I’m doing this.” 

Then he places his palm on his brother’s forehead.

* * * * *

Loki is surrounded by white, an endless white space. He looks around him, but he is alone. After a moment, the whiteness seems to coalesce and four walls appear until he is standing in a white room.

“Where have you been?” 

He turns. Thor is sitting behind him, wearing the same clothes that he was wearing when he fell asleep on Loki’s bed. In the dream world, Thor looks even more haggard than he had in Loki’s cabin. Here the bags under his eyes are more pronounced, the worry lines on his face a little deeper. He doesn’t look like he’s been getting any rest at all. 

“Where have you been?” Thor repeats.

Loki hears the anger and accusation in his brother’s voice, though he’s uncertain of its cause. He should probably be more disturbed that his brother has been expecting him, but he puts that aside for now. He quickly sifts through ways to appease Thor and settles for the truth…well, a half-truth. 

“Busy,” he replies. “And I was detained.” 

“Detained by what?” Thor growls. 

“The spell I use to come here,” Loki begins. “It requires physical contact while you’re asleep and we haven’t had much contact of late.” 

Thor only looks slightly appeased. Before he can ask another question, Loki poses one of his own. 

“Have you been waiting for me?”

A flash of anger appears in Thor’s blue eye, but it dissipates just as quickly and he looks away. Loki takes the action for the admission that it is and he moves towards his brother, sitting beside him on the white settee. He runs his hand along the upholstery. The velvet is soft to his touch. 

“This seems like a very dull place to wait,” he observes. 

Thor huffs, but stubbornly keeps his face averted. Loki takes a risk and reaches over to grasp his brother’s hand. He runs his thumb across Thor’s knuckles and watches as his brother slowly returns his grip. Still, Thor won’t look at him. 

“What is this place?” Loki asks, suspecting he already knows the answer. His reading is proving useful. 

“Some place quiet. Peaceful,” Thor mutters. He’s gripping Loki’s hand more firmly now. 

“Safe,” Loki says, very softly. The white room is Thor’s sanctuary within his own mind when his dreams become too disturbing. He pulls Thor’s hand into his lap and Thor finally glances at him. “What troubles you?” 

“Too much,” Thor admits. The look he gives Loki is half-accusing. “And you are no help.” 

Loki flashes a half-smile. “Am I the cause of your troubles?” 

“Not all,” Thor concedes. He stands, pulling Loki up with him. “Loki, now that you’re here, I wish to rest.”

There is a flash of movement to Loki’s left and a large bed has appeared in the room. It’s white like everything else. 

Loki arches a brow. “That eager?” he teases. Privately, he sees that Thor is also becoming more adept at manipulating his dreamscape. The white room of Thor’s unconscious is very different from the ongoing dreams that Loki has merely stepped into. 

Thor doesn’t smile. He sighs. “Rest,” he repeats. “I need to sleep.” He moves towards the bed, but Loki doesn’t budge. Thor looks back at the resistance. 

“Show me first what troubles you.” 

Consternation flits across Thor’s brow. “Loki,” he starts to say. 

Loki steps towards him and places his free hand on Thor’s chest to silence his brother. “I promise you will be well rested,” he says. “If you show me first what troubles you.” 

“Is that an ultimatum?” Thor sounds both amused and incredulous. 

“A suggestion,” Loki demurs.

The look Thor gives him is hard. Assessing. Then he grips Loki by the shoulders. Loki feels a moment of vertigo as the dreamscape changes. When the vertigo passes the white room is gone, replaced by the opulence of Asgard’s grand throne room. Loki doesn’t even need to look around to know where he is. He recognizes the marble flooring, the great columns and the golden light that floods the massive hall. Thor steps away from him then and Loki notices something very different. 

Asgard’s throne room has been desecrated. A pile of rubble is scattered underneath the domed fresco that once crowned the Allfather’s great accomplishments and the history of Asgard’s people. Loki follows silently as Thor walks towards the rubble. They stand underneath the fresco and for the first time Loki sees what has been painted underneath. Without Thor telling him, Loki knows that this is Hela’s doing. It’s obvious. This must be what Thor saw when he went to confront their sister. Thor begins to pace, as though he can’t stand the sight of the uncovered fresco, but Loki studies the new painting with keen interest. Gone is the peace and tranquility of the Nine Realms, of Odin’s depiction as a benevolent ruler and of the armistice between Asgard and Jotunheim. In its place is Hela riding by Odin’s side in a magnificent chariot, fire and flame, death and conquest. There is a kind of sinister beauty to the horror; in some dark part of his heart Loki understands his sister’s ambition.

“It appears Father’s idea of forgetting the past was to cover it up,” Loki says lightly, mindful of Thor’s darkening mood. He can feel the change in the air – the dryness, the static before a lightning storm. And yet, despite not wanting to push his brother’s buttons, he also can’t seem to help himself. 

“Odin had a way of avoiding the things he didn’t want to deal with. He locked Hela up when her ambition outstripped his own. He banished you to Midgard when your actions threatened the peace with Jotunheim, aided, of course, by my own brand of encouragement,” he adds, inclining his head to Thor. “And he put me in prison for eternity.”

Lightning crackles outside the palace and the throne room grows dim with the darkening clouds. The golden light has vanished. 

“Not that we weren’t deserving of our punishments,” Loki continues, ignoring the impending storm. He knows that Thor can hear him. “Hela was irredeemable, that much is clear. Father thought the same of me. But you,” and here he gives his brother a piercing look. “You were the only one who was given a chance to save yourself. A chance at redemption. Your banishment was a lesson, one that you apparently learned.” 

The lightning has stopped, but it is still dark outside. A soft rain is now falling. Loki can smell the freshness of the air like morning dew. 

“Why does this fresco trouble you?” he asks, his eyes flicking upward to the painting. 

“Does it not bother you that all we were taught of our history and our people was a _lie_?”

Thor’s eye glints with a dangerous blue, as though he were about to call the lightning down on them. Loki should probably be afraid, but he isn’t. He is an invader of Thor’s dreams – a welcome guest for the most part – but from his reading, he understands that the deeper he delves into Thor’s unconscious, the more his brother could actually physically and mentally hurt him. The fading bruise on his shoulder is testament to that. 

In another context and at another time (one not that long ago really, though it feels like a century has passed), Thor’s question would’ve stoked Loki’s own anger. He knows all about being lied to, about learning that his entire _life_ was a lie. But this isn’t what Thor is asking. Loki’s troubled history is not at the forefront of Thor’s unconscious and Loki plays along, impressed at his own calm and pragmatism. 

“What was the lie, Thor?” 

“This!” Thor lifts his hands and gestures at the uncovered fresco.

“You have to be more specific,” Loki drawls. “Are you referring to the fact that you are _not_ the firstborn and therefore were never the Crown Prince when all your life your were groomed to rule? Or are you referring to _how_ you inherited your crown? That Asgard’s rule over the Nine Realms was not benevolent and protective but born out of colonial conquest and violent subjugation? Hmm?”

Thor is almost gaping at him. “How can you say that so calmly?” 

Loki shrugs. “Being calm and rational seems to be the best way to approach this,” he answers. “What good will anger do now?” 

Thor’s gaze narrows. “Yes,” he agrees. “But you are _too_ calm. You’re not at all surprised that I’ve shown you this.”

“And why should I be surprised?” Loki asks, a bit too sharply. “Asgard is a warrior race. This,” he says, gesturing at the fresco, “is merely a reframing of history. What wars did you think were fought before our time? And for what purpose? Where do you think all of Asgard’s wealth came from? Why has Asgard always set itself as superior to the other Realms, as though it were our destiny to rule? Where does that right come from, and why have we always accepted it as belonging to us?” 

Thor looks conflicted and torn, as though Loki’s words make too much sense and he wishes that they didn’t. He shakes his head, whether to disagree with Loki or to clear his thoughts is uncertain. Outside, the rain has slowed to a drizzle and the dark clouds are beginning to part. The shafts of light that now enter the hall have a soft rose glow like the light of pre-drawn. 

“None of this is as I thought it would be,” Thor mutters, but his voice carries clearly to Loki in the silent hall.

“And that is an opportunity,” Loki says, his gaze catching on the gold gleaming throne not too far away from them. He begins to walk toward it. “You have none of this,” he continues, gesturing aimlessly at the palace and Asgard as a whole. “You have to build Asgard from the ground up, create a new foundation.” He hears Thor’s footsteps following behind him. He stops to glance back at his brother, giving him a sly smile. “So, why don’t you build something entirely new?” he suggests. “Follow you own vision?” 

Thor stops beside him. They are standing at the foot of the throne, gazing up at it. 

“And what if I don’t have one?” 

Loki laughs, but there is nothing derisive or mocking about it. “You do,” he says. He taps Thor’s temple. “Maybe it’s not yet complete or it has to be teased out. But it’s there.” He looks back at the throne. “You can do things differently,” he goes on. “You can still honor Asgard’s traditions, of course, but you can leave that ugly past behind. It’s an opportunity.” 

Loki can feel Thor’s gaze boring into him, but he doesn’t wilt under the scrutiny. He steels himself. Any moment now, Thor is going to say something potentially devastating, something that will try to cut through his carefully constructed defenses. He can _feel_ it.

“I didn’t lie,” Thor says very quietly. “When I stood before Father and told him that you understood rule in a way that I never could.” 

Loki tenses at the memory. 

“But it wasn’t Father I was speaking to that day. It was _you_.” 

Loki doesn’t respond, doesn’t even look at Thor, so his brother continues. 

“Never for a moment did I question that illusion.” 

“Of course not,” Loki agrees, a bit too glibly. “You thought I had died an _honorable_ death.”

Thor won’t be provoked. Loki is impressed by his brother’s resolve. He’s less impressed when Thor grabs him by the shoulders and turns so that they are facing each other. 

“No,” Thor says stubbornly. “I didn’t question the illusion because you _knew_ Father better than me. You understood him like I never could. Do you remember what you told me that day? You told me words that I had longed to hear from Father all my life – that he was proud of the man that I had become. But Father never told me that. It was _you_.”

Loki breaks Thor’s grip (and Thor releases him), but he doesn’t step away. He can’t quite meet his brother’s gaze, but he can still feel its intensity. He settles for looking at the leather chest plate that his brother is wearing as he gathers his thoughts. He feels pinned – by Thor’s gaze, by Thor’s dream world, by the uncomfortable truth in Thor’s words. How can he break his brother’s hold? Finally, he looks up and his smile is silken. 

“Do you know what I remember about ruling, Thor?” he asks. “The banality. The tedium of the day-to-day. The _minutia_. You were right when you told me that I am… _ill-suited_ …to it.”

Thor flinches at Loki’s choice of words, remembering them as his own on Midgard. But he also doesn’t back down. “And yet, between the two of us, you are the one with experience.” 

If possible, Loki’s smile grows more silken and he steps away. “You thought quite poorly of my reign,” he reminds Thor. “What did you call it? The Nine Realms in chaos while I…” he trails off as he searches for the precise phrase. 

Thor doesn’t let him finish. “I was angry,” he cuts in, stepping toward Loki again. “I was angry at you for what you did to Father. I was angry at your deception. And I was _relieved_ that you were still alive, still up to your old tricks, even as I was _furious_ that you had let me think you’d died. _Again_.” 

“My, my,” Loki says, genuinely surprised beneath his faint mockery. “You’re very open here. Very…honest.” 

“But you’re not.”

Thor’s statement is said without anger or accusation. It’s simply a statement, which Loki doesn’t deny. He smiles again. “You’ll have to work harder,” he suggests. He turns away from Thor and begins to walk up the steps to the throne. Thor’s voice follows him. 

“I’ve spoken to Heimdall since then. And others.” Thor pauses. “My judgment was too rash, blinded by my emotions. Heimdall tells me that you were a good ruler. Just. Fair. You enacted new policies. The people say they were effective. You negotiated grievances well. Of that I’m not surprised,” he adds. “Asgard _was_ prosperous, as you said. Perhaps a tad decadent, but it was Asgard after all.” 

Loki has reached the throne. He approaches it, running his right hand along one golden armrest.

“What are you trying to tell me, Thor?” He sounds disinterested, though he is anything but. 

“Must I spell it out for you?” 

It’s the first time throughout their conversation that Loki has heard a hint of impatience from his brother. 

“No,” Loki answers firmly. He doesn’t need to hear this from Thor. He doesn’t _want_ to. He turns around instead. He’s standing in front of the throne. “Do you know what I miss about ruling? I think you’d be surprised.” He looks down at Thor, thinking of the spells that he’s been studying. Now is the time to try something out.

“Let me show you.” 

Loki focuses his mind. He reminds himself that in Thor’s dreamscape he is an invader, an outsider. He cannot control Thor’s dream state (well…there are loopholes around that, but he shouldn’t get too far ahead), but he can control himself. His _seidr_ gives him more autonomy than would otherwise be possible. An illusion can be created, as long as that illusion is related to himself and doesn’t intrude on Thor’s dreamscape directly. He can, for example, control how he appears in Thor’s dreams. He closes his eyes and murmurs the words of the spell. He feels his _seidr_ gathering, calling the object into his hand until his fingers close around it. Unlike the waking world, the object has substance. It is not truly an illusion. The object is the same as he remembers, the smooth texture of the gold and the finely balanced weight of the weapon. 

He opens his eyes. He is holding Gungnir. He lifts the mighty spear, wielded only by the ruler of Asgard, before bringing it down on the step. 

“It is not only a spear that never misses its mark,” Loki tells Thor now. “To wield Gungnir is to see the world as Heimdall does, to understand what omnipresence truly is. Nothing in the Nine Realms may be hidden.”

“And yet, you have found a way to hide yourself from Heimdall’s sight.” 

Loki smiles at Thor’s perceptive statement, but he doesn’t take the bait. “I used to enjoy watching you,” he says instead. “From this very spot. I would check in on you from time to time.” 

“You mean you stalked me,” Thor translates, but there is no anger in his tone. 

In fact, Loki would say that his brother is pleased. Loki has made an admission of sorts: that he thought about Thor; that he was curious to see how his brother was doing; that perhaps he would’ve even come to his aid if Thor were truly in trouble. 

“This wasn’t supposed to last as long as it did,” Loki continues, knowing that Thor will understand what he means. “Father was weak when I found him. Weak and grieving. The spell I cast was powerful, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he undid it.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Father needed a break,” Loki answers. “From the burdens of rule. A voluntary vacation.” 

“You stuck him in a retirement home,” Thor accuses. 

“A very _relaxing_ retirement home,” Loki counters. “I read the brochures, took the tour. And can you imagine his face when he broke the spell and realized where he was? It was one of my finest tricks!” Loki begins to laugh at the thought, and though Thor is still a little upset, Loki’s laughter is infectious. He can tell his brother is trying not to smile.

“I expected the spell to last three months, six at the most,” Loki says when his laughter has stopped. 

“But Father didn’t return.” 

“No.” 

“And suddenly you realized that you had to rule a kingdom for real.” 

Loki’s smile fades, realizing how Thor has cleverly brought their conversation full circle. He narrows his eyes. His brother hasn’t won yet. In a flash of green and gold, Loki has changed. Standing before Thor is Odin, Allfather, dressed in his regal armor such as Thor saw him after he had defeated Malekith and saved the Nine Realms. Thor doesn’t react to the change, but Loki can still read the fine line of tension in his brother’s body. 

“Is there something you wish to say to me?” 

Loki speaks, but it is Odin’s voice that comes out. He’s not sure himself whether he speaks as Odin or Loki, whether that even matters at this point. Judging by the turmoil in his brother’s blue eye, Thor is thinking the same. 

“You were always right, Father,” Thor says after a long moment. “Loki and I were both born to rule.” 

“And yet,” Odin replies, voice reprimanding. “I also said that only one of you could take the throne.” Before Thor can say anything else, Odin gestures with his free hand. 

“Come here.” 

The voice is commanding and Thor is moving as soon as the order is given. He walks up the steps, his eyes never leaving Odin’s face. When they are standing at the top step together in front of the throne, Odin gestures to it. 

“Sit.” 

This time Thor hesitates. He touches Odin’s hand, the one that is grasping Gungnir. “Loki,” he whispers. 

Loki allows his illusion to fade until he is the one standing before his brother. “Sit,” he repeats, motioning to the throne. Thor does so, and Loki passes him Gungnir. “I’ve had my fill of ruling, Thor,” he says, coming to stand between Thor’s spread he legs. He kneels gracefully, hands on Thor’s knees. 

“You’re trying to distract me,” Thor says, but he shifts minutely, evidence of his interest. 

“It is a welcome distraction, is it not?” Loki’s smile is impish, but also a little devious. It is a smile that says, _I have you now, brother._ His hands move further up Thor’s thighs as he leans forward.

“You are my King now,” he says, hands at Thor’s belt. He undoes the buckle. “Let me show you how I may serve you.” 

“No, Loki,” Thor protests. “I do not wish for you to s– ”

Thor’s words are bitten off by a moan and the heat of his brother’s mouth.

* * * * *

When Loki surfaces from the dream world, he feels an uncomfortable strain in his own pants. His eyes land on Fenrir who has perked up at his awakening.

“Happy?” he asks the pup. 

Fenrir barks in response. 

“Don’t wake him yet,” Loki mutters. He shifts, feeling the drag of the leather against his aching cock. There’s a spell to wilt erections (not that Loki has ever had any need of it), but it would be useful to remember it now. Since his mind draws a blank, he cleans his brother up instead and then works to remove the dream from Thor’s mind. When that’s done, he sits up. He winces again at the drag on his cock. 

_Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts._

The mantra doesn’t help, not with his brother resting and oozing post-sex bliss on the bed beside him. Loki gets up and decides he’ll have to beat one out in the washroom. Fenrir watches as he gingerly walks around the bed and into the en-suite. The pup tilts his head. 

“Fine,” Loki tells him. “You can wake him up.” 

The last thing Loki sees before the washroom door seals with a pneumatic hiss is Fenrir pouncing on Thor and licking his brother’s face excitedly.

* * * * *

_The Haven_ has a proper conference room and this is where the meeting with Heimdall and the Valkyrie takes place. Loki surveys the room as his brother talks. This will be the new Council chamber until they reach Midgard; he’s certain of it. Thor is talking about reconstituting the Council now, although it would be very different in its composition. Traditionally, the Council was composed of members of the nobility and high-ranking warriors. It was believed that nobility were the best trained in politics and diplomacy, while the warriors dealt with military strategy. It was a system that worked well on Asgard, but seems to be of little use in their current predicament. More than that, Loki can tell that Thor wants to change things and the composition of the new Council is the first step. He can hear the remnants of the latest dream with Thor in his brother’s words. It fascinates Loki that though he stripped away the details of the dream, the after impression of Thor’s unconscious is so strong that his brother is acting on those impulses now. Loki wonders what it means. What other latent memories does Thor possess and will his brother act upon them as well?

“Loki, what do you think?” 

Thus far, Loki has managed to largely stay out of the discussion. But the determined look Thor gives him tells Loki that he can no longer avoid sharing his opinion. 

“I think that there aren’t enough high-ranking noble families left nor warriors to constitute the old Council,” Loki says. “The change is necessary.” 

“But what do you think of the suggestion?” 

Loki arches a brow, but answers the question. “It’s very…democratic,” he says at last. “Next you’ll be suggesting we hold elections.” 

“I had been considering _how_ members of the Council would be chosen,” Thor admits. “Once the divisions are in place.”

“You can think of this as an interim Council,” Loki offers. “Until we reach Midgard. Just to see if your little idea will work. The new bylaws can be ratified later. Until then, we can follow the old Council’s procedures but with new members.” 

“I agree,” Heimdall says. “An interim Council for the journey, its final members and bylaws to be ratified on Midgard. This time can be used for experimentation and growing pains.” 

“Good,” Thor says. “But that still doesn’t solve the problem of selection.” 

“The census,” Loki answers. “Divisions can be identified from the remaining groups of Asgardian society. Then interview the best qualified candidates from the groups.” 

“And who will conduct these interviews?” 

“I had thought you were a good judge of character, Thor,” Loki says with a sly smile. 

“You’ll conduct the interviews with me,” Thor shoots back, his look daring Loki to say otherwise. 

Loki’s smile doesn’t dim and he easily holds his brother’s gaze. There’s a sudden dryness in the ventilated air like the prelude to an electrical storm. Loki can feel it. He knows the others can as well.

“Right,” the Valkyrie says, cutting through the palpable tension, her assessing gaze moving between the two brothers. “Now that that’s settled.” She looks at Thor. “Are we done here?” 

“No,” Thor says, a bit curtly. “Everyone in this room is automatically on the interim Council.” 

The Valkyrie starts at that news and her gaze immediately shifts to Loki. Loki knows that she’s about to protest (no way does she want to sit on a _Council_ ; she’s a warrior, not a politician), but a look from Loki gives her pause. She waits for him to speak. 

“I am not too keen on that idea myself,” Loki says, the levity gone from his voice. “But it has merit. The Council is only an interim one, which means there’s no guarantee that everyone in this room will be a part of the final Council on Midgard.”

Loki looks at the Valkyrie when he’s finished speaking, his expression saying, _We’re in this together until we reach that planet. Don’t bail on me now._ She holds his gaze, the jut of her chin expressing her defiance until she finally nods. 

“Very well,” she tells the group.

Thor is fixed on Loki as though lingering on his brother’s final words. He doesn’t look pleased himself, but he brings the meeting to a close. As the four of them stand up, Loki turns to Heimdall. 

“I’d like a copy of the census,” he tells the Gatekeeper. 

Heimdall produces a small gold disk that he passes to Loki. “Your copy of the census, my Prince,” he says. 

Loki accepts the disk with a faint smile. The Guardian’s gold eyes gleam and Loki would swear that the other god is silently laughing at him. When he walks into the hallway, the Valkyrie immediately falls into step beside him. He can still feel her irritation. 

“You owe me more than a re-match,” she hisses, when they’re far enough away from Thor and Heimdall. They turn a corner. “The Council!” she exclaims. “What am I going to do on the Council?” 

“Provide sound advice, I imagine,” Loki replies blandly. 

“I have no head for politics,” she tells him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I prefer to kill things.” 

“Actually,” Loki says. “I think you would do very well in politics.” 

She glares at him. 

“And besides,” Loki continues smoothly. “From what my brother said in there, the Council will be about more than just politics. He means to restructure Asgardian society.” 

“Like _that’s_ not political,” the Valkyrie replies dryly. She gives him a sideways glance. “You were quite at ease in there,” she points out.

“I’ve had practice,” Loki replies in a short clipped tone. He stops walking suddenly and the Valkyrie stops as well. “My brother is the King,” he reminds her. “Could you really have refused him?” 

She exhales loudly. “No,” she finally says. 

“Then be thankful that we’re only on the Council until Midgard. If you’re truly unhappy or terrible at the position, Thor will release you.” 

She eyes him. “Will he do the same for you?” 

Loki evades the question. “I _do_ owe you a re-match. How does tomorrow sound?”

The Valkyrie looks torn between pursuing their previous topic or setting a time for the re-match. She settles for the latter. “Morning,” she states. “Early. Before the morning meal.” 

“Trying to starve a victory out of me, I see.” 

“It’s called building an appetite,” she retorts.

* * * * *

Later that evening, Thor corners Loki as he is on his way back to his cabin.

“Have a drink with me,” Thor says, blocking Loki’s path. 

Loki could dodge him or use his _seidr_ to escape, but instead he looks at Thor a little warily. 

“Nothing poisonous from Sakaar,” Thor adds, as if that’s what’s causing Loki’s unease. Truthfully, it’s a fair statement. The cocktails that they’d found onboard _The Haven_ came in frightening shades of colors with equally frightening flavors. 

“Just one drink,” Thor needles. 

“What for?” Loki asks, not even bothering to hide his suspicion. 

“We used to drink all the time for no reason at all,” Thor reminds him.

“No,” Loki corrects. “ _You_ used to drink all the time for no reason at all. Most of the time I simply…humored you.” 

“Then humor me tonight.” Thor flashes his most charismatic smile though it has little effect on Loki. 

“No politics,” Loki finally states, his thoughts drifting to the meeting earlier. 

Thor looks horrified. “Why would we talk about politics?” he asks, taking the opportunity to steer his brother in the other direction, the one that leads to his own cabin.

Thor’s cabin is the most spacious one on the ship, which isn’t surprising. It would be the Captain’s stateroom, if the ship were being flown by a regular crew. (Loki has appropriated the Executive Officer’s stateroom, but there is a clear disparity between his cabin and Thor’s.) Loki sits at the table in Thor’s cabin, his gaze drifting to Thor’s much more spacious bed. It’s a proper bed and a comfortable size with which to complete the dream quest. 

Thor places a bottle of brandy and two glasses in front of Loki and then takes the seat opposite him. Loki is impressed as Thor begins to pour the brandy into the glasses. 

“Raiding the Vanaheim royal stash,” Loki comments. 

“Tell me you don’t appreciate this,” Thor dares him.

Loki merely shakes his head, savoring the brandy’s rich taste. _This_ was worth coming to his brother’s cabin for. They drink in silence, enjoying the brandy and the general peace until Loki feels his brother’s gaze focused solely on him. 

“You’re staring,” he says bluntly. 

Thor clears his throat but doesn’t apologize for his actions. Instead he says, “I have a wager.” 

“A wager?” Loki repeats. His interest is piqued and he knows that Thor knows it too. “On what?”

“On the Valkyrie’s true name,” Thor finishes. “Let us see, between the two of us, who can learn it first.” 

Loki smiles and the glint in his eye grows. This is too perfect. “I see,” he says, his voice silken. “And what do you get if you win?” 

“You share my bed.” 

At Loki’s raised eyebrows, Thor sighs. “Not for _that_ ,” he says with exasperation, but then seems to think better of it. “Not that I would ever refuse,” he adds, giving Loki a lecherous grin. 

“What then?” Loki asks.

Thor’s gaze drops to the amber liquid in his glass. “I cannot explain it,” he says, sounding almost embarrassed. “But I sleep better when you’re around. I felt more rested after napping in your cabin this afternoon than anytime since we left Vanaheim.” 

Loki slowly turns his glass as he considers this, burying the kernel of guilt that he is the cause of Thor’s sleepless nights. That’s not _strictly_ true. Thor was already having bad dreams before Loki decided to take them away, before his spirit journey started. 

“And what do I get if I win?” 

“What do you want?” 

“That when we reach Midgard, you'll not force me to stay on that planet.”

Thor’s face falls immediately. “Loki, I –” he begins, but then stops abruptly. He shakes his head. “I would never force you to stay.” 

“You are the King now,” Loki replies calmly. “Every word out of your mouth is a command.” 

“Yes, but, I would never _force_ you.” Thor sounds immeasurably hurt and Loki has to steel himself against his brother’s emotionalism. 

“The wager is what it is,” Loki states. “Are there any conditions?” 

“No magic,” Thor immediately says.

Loki can’t help but smile. “Next you’ll say no trickery or deception,” he teases. 

Despite Thor’s unhappiness, he manages a small smile of his own. “I wouldn’t want you to go against your nature, brother.” There is real affection in Thor's words that Loki finds himself responding to, against his own wishes. 

“Then it is settled,” Loki says. “The wager is on who may learn the Valkyrie’s true name first. The only condition is the prohibition of magic. If you win, I share your bed. If I win, I will not have to stay on Midgard. Do we have an agreement?” 

“Aye, we do.” 

There is a glint in Thor’s eye that tells Loki that his brother has no intention of losing this wager. Of course, what Thor doesn’t know is that Loki has no intention of winning it either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About that name...yes, I know Fenris is the name used in _Ragnarok_ and the comics. I also found out that Fenris was made into a _female_ wolf in _Ragnarok_. (Because Hela was her master, I s'ppose.) Buuut...Fenrir is the original name from the Norse myths and I love the idea of returning it to the pup. After all, in the myths Fenrir is Loki's _child_. In this fic, they have a similar relationship (with the bonus of Fenrir NOT bringing about Ragnarok). 
> 
> Like Thor says, it's a beautiful name, okay? :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before y'all kill me, I'm gonna be upfront and say that there isn't a dream in this chapter. Hang on. Calm down. Put those pitchforks away. The next dream is going to be EPIC, practically a self-contained story on its own. It'll be worth the wait. 
> 
> Instead, this chapter is a lot of set-up and maneuvering on Loki's part. (He has to take care of that bet, all right?) And hopefully, the pay off down the line will be worth it. :)

Since clocks and watches onboard _The Haven_ are set to Asgardian time, the lighting cycles of the ship also mimic Asgardian daylight, and when Loki leaves his cabin to meet the Valkyrie in one of the smaller cargo holds that’s been repurposed into a training area, the lights are still dim, indicating pre-drawn. When he arrives, she’s already there, looking far too cheerful for the hour. Fenrir tags along beside him, much brighter than Loki feels and curious at the early morning excursion. Loki points to a spot near the wall and Fenrir obediently trots over. Although he has zero experience with pets and even less training animals (save for horses in his youth), Fenrir seems to understand him intuitively. When he’s sure that Fenrir is comfortable (Loki tosses the pup his favorite toy to play with), he joins the Valkyrie on the matted training floor where she’s performing stretching exercises.

“I wasn’t sure you’d make it,” she teases him. 

“Not my preferred time, no,” he agrees, beginning his own stretching. 

She watches him for a moment until a look from Loki has her resuming her forms. After a while, Loki joins her, their movements smooth and in sync. He recognizes the form. It was one his mother used to practice and consequently taught him. If the Valkyrie is surprised that he knows it, she doesn’t let on. 

“Shall we?” she asks him, when they’ve run through the form twice. 

Loki nods. “Weapons?” he asks in turn as they proceed to the center of the mat. 

“Hand-to-hand to start,” she suggests. “Single weapon of choice afterwards.” 

“Number of rounds?” 

“Five hand-to-hand, five with a weapon of choice.” 

Loki arches a brow. “Ten rounds?” he says. “We’ll be here all morning.”

“ _That’s_ the idea,” she replies with the most evil grin he’s seen on her yet. “Oh, and one more thing, Your Highness,” she adds, as she bows to him to begin the formal match. 

“No magic.” 

Loki inclines his head as he flashes her a wry grin. “Been hearing that a lot of late,” he says, remembering Thor’s wager from the night before. 

“The match is supposed to be fair,” she reminds him. 

“You should train with _seidr_ practitioners,” Loki suggests. “It’s a different sort of fighting.” 

“Well, that’s something to look forward to tomorrow!”

And with those words, the re-match is on. As Loki had expected, they are evenly matched. The Valkyrie’s style is unsurprisingly aggressive. By contrast, Loki has always been patient, observing and studying his opponents as he counters their moves. The rounds tick by slowly. It’s difficult for either of them to pin the other one down so that they concede. Neither of them will give up, and neither of them can strike what should be an incapacitating blow. When Loki lands on his back for the second time with the Valkyrie’s knee effectively cutting off the air to his lungs, he pounds the mat with his right fist, indicating his willingness to concede. She narrows her eyes as she releases him, and he gets to his feet. 

“What?” he asks at her slant-eyed look. 

“You’re not getting soft on me, are you?” she accuses, hinting that Loki could’ve reversed their positions if he’d chosen to in the last round. (She’s right.) 

“I thought you’d be pleased,” he says lightly. “You hold a 3-2 edge.” 

“Not if you let me win,” she spits back. 

“Maybe I was getting bored,” Loki suggests, two long knives smoothly appearing in his hands. They’re longer than his usual weapons, but he also knows that they’re a better fit for the Valkyrie’s short swords. “Weapon of choice,” he tells her. 

Her smile is bordering on feral as she fetches her two swords. This time Loki is the aggressor. He puts his newfound knowledge into action and has both his blades at the Valkyrie’s throat in under two minutes. Her eyes widen in shock while Loki smiles a cunning smile. 

“More interesting, no?” he says, releasing her. 

Her pride has been wounded. Loki can read it clearly in the fire in her eyes. She’s going to make him pay for that. 

“Three all,” she says darkly. “But not for long.” 

The seventh round is longer. With the blades, their fight turns into more of a dance. Strike. Parry. Step. Strike. Parry. Retreat. Strike. Parry. Duck. The Valkyrie wins this round, but the margin is much narrower. The eighth round proceeds in the same way. Loki is victorious. They are tied again at four apiece. The ninth round is different. Here, Loki uses the Valkyrie’s aggressiveness to his gain (a tactic that he used to employ against Thor), continually drawing her in only to retreat. She is persistent and precise, but as the round continues to drag on, Loki can sense her impatience beneath the smooth strokes of her swords. Loki has drawn this round out far longer than any of the others. It’s not that the Valkyrie is beginning to tire (she could fight for hours – they both could), but it’s the knowledge that victory is both so near and seemingly so distant that urges her on. Loki has this round. He knows it. He knows it right until the moment that he makes a careless mistake. The Valkyrie knows it too and her eyes widen in surprise. Loki deflects one of her strokes, but has been blindsided by the second blade. Too late he sees it and he tries to spin away. He steels himself for the strike, knowing it will be serious but not fatal.

Suddenly, there is a blur of gray fur. Loki is seized with a terrible fear and unthinkingly he throws up a green shield of _seidr_ , protecting Fenrir from what surely would’ve been a fatal blow. He lands awkwardly on his side, while at the same time seeing the Valkyrie’s sword make contact with his green wall of magic. Fenrir lands sprawled on top of him. Loki immediately rolls onto his back, checking to make sure the pup isn’t hurt as his shield of _seidr_ fades. Going by Fenrir’s enthusiastic response, the pup is unharmed.

The Valkyrie has put away her swords. The horror on her face at possibly killing Fenrir has passed and now she’s watching them both fondly, but with a mixture of relief. 

“That round is definitely mine,” she states. “If only because you used magic.” 

She holds out a hand. Loki grasps her forearm and allows her to pull him to his feet as he supports Fenrir with his left arm. 

“I didn’t have much choice,” Loki says. 

The Valkyrie has the good grace to look abashed. She rubs Fenrir on the head, as though asking for forgiveness. He doesn’t bite her, which is a good sign. 

“You should train him. He already has the right instincts,” she tells Loki. “He’ll be magnificent on the battlefield and a very fine protector for a Prince.”

Loki nods somewhat absently as Fenrir tries to climb onto his shoulder. “When’s he’s older,” he replies. He gives the Valkyrie a look that says their sparring is done for the day. She looks like she wants to protest, but then thinks better of it. 

“Fine,” she grumbles, at his unspoken command. “Two more rounds, Your Highness.” 

“Two?” Loki repeats as he heads towards the exit with the Valkyrie on his right. “I thought that was the ninth round.” 

“It doesn’t count,” the Valkyrie says dismissively. “Your pet interrupted us. You used _seidr_. Better to void it and start again at four apiece.” 

“A strong sense of fairness,” Loki observes. “No wonder Thor wants you on the Council.” 

The Valkyrie’s response to that is a patented glare.

* * * * *

When Loki finally enters the cafeteria for the morning meal, it’s mostly empty. Service time is spread out over three hours for each of the three daily meals, though it isn’t unheard of for Loki to sneak into the kitchens to swipe a snack or two. The staff is (surprisingly?) accommodating to him and he recognizes some of them from the palace kitchens on Asgard. He makes his way to what is the unofficial ‘royal’ table, acknowledging quiet greetings of, ‘My Prince,’ or ‘Fair morning, Your Highness,’ with quick nods. The people are not afraid of him; they’re not even as wary and distrustful as he had expected them to be. The Allfather’s life sentence in prison seems to be a distant memory now, though it has only been a handful of years. Fresher in the people’s memory is Loki as their savior (he smiles at the thought of a self-fulfilling prophecy) and the dawning understanding that Loki has been their ruler for the past few years. It has been slow and hard won, but he has rebuilt the people’s trust, even as he has done it through trickery and deception. Once the reality of ruling set in, he was, as Thor told him in the dream, an honest and just king. Nevertheless, it is strange walking among the people now in his own skin, but he is always treated with respect and reverence. He will never be beloved like Thor, but for all his mistakes he is still a Prince of Asgard.

When he reaches the royal table, the Valkyrie is the only one there and judging by her empty plate, she has simply been waiting for him. She cradles a large cup between her hands as she watches him take the seat opposite her. 

“A little early for that,” he says mildly, gesturing at the cup. 

“It’s never too early,” she scoffs, taking a long pull as if to prove her point. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Besides, it’s almost ten,” she adds.

The kitchen staff appears and begins serving Loki. The cafeteria is actually self-service, with the exception of the royal table. Thor occasionally takes great pleasure in lining up and serving himself, but Loki doesn’t mind the attention. He didn’t ask for it, but once the offer was made, he had no intention of refusing. Surprisingly, the Valkyrie for all her independence and do-it-yourself verve also doesn’t oppose the service. Neither does Heimdall. Loki thinks of Thor’s desire to change things and recognizes how challenging it will be to put into action. Some things, such as nobility, have been too deeply ingrained and the cafeteria is the perfect illustration of this. Through the tables and the various groupings of the people, the whole strata of Asgardian society may be seen. They get along peaceably enough, but there is no denying the hierarchy that remains present.

Loki digs into his bread, eggs and bacon as soon as the staff disappears. He didn’t realize how famished he was until the food was placed in front of him. (Sparring with the Valkyrie really did build up his appetite.) The eggs are powdered, but so well cooked that Loki can barely tell and the bread is freshly made; the bacon was cured in Vanaheim and brings with it a sense of familiarity. Behind him, Fenrir is also eating. (Yes, the kitchen staff also serves his pet, and with a great deal of cooing involved.) 

The Valkyrie lets him eat in peace until she’s halfway through her cup. Then she says, “Two more rounds tomorrow?” 

Loki looks up and his lips quirk into a half-smile. “I don’t recall agreeing to that,” he says.

No,” she concedes. “But you agreed to ten rounds and we still have two left.” 

Loki shrugs, unperturbed. “We could also agree to a draw,” he suggests. 

The Valkyrie’s brow furrows. “Are you re-negotiating?” she accuses. 

“Negotiation is an ongoing process,” Loki replies. He spears more bacon onto his plate as he eyes the Valkyrie thoughtfully. “I have a proposition,” he says after a moment.

“I’m terrified already,” she says with mock horror, but Loki can tell that she’s interested. 

He leans forward slightly, and almost involuntarily the Valkyrie does the same. “You’re looking for a sparring partner,” he says. “I’m willing to be that partner for you. But in exchange, you have to do something for me.” 

“And what pray tell would that be?” she asks offhandedly. “Lie? Cheat? Steal? Kill?” 

“Nothing so dastardly,” Loki chides. “You have to tell Thor your real name.” 

At this, the Valkyrie bursts out laughing. “Why would I do that?” she exclaims. 

Loki’s smile widens. “I have a story for you.” With a flick of his wrist, he refills the Valkyrie’s cup and she starts backwards in surprise. 

“Well, that’s useful,” she says to him, fairly annoyed that he hadn’t thought to share that trick with her sooner.

“It’s a long story,” Loki explains. “And goes down better with ale.” 

The Valkyrie takes another pull from her newly refilled cup. “I’m listening,” she says, when she puts the cup down. 

And so Loki tells a story of how he met a shaman on Vanaheim and embarked on a spirit journey thanks to a cup of _soma_ and his newly acquired spirit animal. (As if on cue, Fenrir jumps into his lap, his own breakfast long finished.) Loki tells her about the nine dreams leaving out the details (that would be _over_ -sharing), and how he needs to be in close proximity to Thor in order to enter his brother’s dreamscape. He ends his tale with the wager Thor struck with him the previous night and that has the Valkyrie laughing harder than ever. 

“This is too much!” she says, wiping the tears from her eyes when she can finally speak again. 

Loki is nonplussed by her reaction, using her laughter as a break to feed Fenrir some bacon. (The pup is going to be horribly spoiled.) 

“That tale is so preposterous it can only be true,” she continues, still laughing softly. 

“Will you help me?”

“You are so sly, Trickster,” the Valkyrie says, the admiration evident in her voice if not in her expression. “Your brother probably thinks you’ll lie and deceive your way into learning my name, but instead you tell me the _truth_.” She laughs again, a bright, clear sound. 

“I don’t need to learn your name,” Loki reminds her. “I never intended to win the bet.” 

“You don’t need to learn it,” she corrects. “Because you already know it.” 

Loki inclines his head. “I have my suspicions,” he admits. He meets her even gaze. “Will you help me?” he asks again. 

“Only if you promise not to hurt your brother.” 

“I can’t make that promise,” Loki says with a shake of his head. “Spirit journeys are unpredictable, as are Thor’s dreams. Neither of us will come out of this unscathed; nor do I think that is the purpose of the journey.” He pauses and holds her gaze again. “It’s not my intention to hurt Thor,” he says. “That’s the most I can promise.” 

She nods, accepting this. “You’ll have my answer this evening,” she states, standing up. “Over a drink.” 

“You and Thor are very alike,” Loki observes. “I don’t think there’s anything not worth a drink to the two of you.” 

“That just makes us _Asgardian_ ,” she says in return, but there is no malice in her words. She turns away, but then stops abruptly, her back to Loki. “What do you think my name is?” she asks.

Loki doesn’t hesitate. “Brunnhilde,” he says, very clearly. 

The Valkyrie gives no outward reaction and with her back to him, Loki can’t read her expression. But he _knows_ he is right. Finally, she looks back at him, eyes bright and calculating. 

“Shall I bring something to drink later?” she asks. “Or is that something you can simply conjure for us?” 

“Bring something,” Loki instructs. “The spell is to replenish what’s already there.” 

“A truly bottomless bottle,” the Valkyrie says with an arch of her brow. “Now that’s a spell worth learning.”

* * * * *

Loki spends the rest of his day going through the census data. He sets up a workspace in the conference room since it’s more spacious than the desk in his cabin. The data is very thorough, but that’s not surprising given that Heimdall organized and compiled it. He groups the data according to sectors and professions of Asgardian society. If Thor truly wants to be more democratic, then the Council will need representatives from each major sector. Since they’ll be following the old by-laws, Loki also assumes that there’ll be the same number of council members. That means ten council members plus the King. If Heimdall, the Valkyrie and he take three seats, then they need seven more delegates.

Loki looks over the sectors he’s created: the nobility, the military, the merchants, the scientists, the engineers, the healers, the artists (he smirks; he can designate himself as both Prince and patron of the arts), the lawmakers, and the sorcerers. Too many groups and not enough seats. Loki is pondering this as Thor enters the conference room. His brother looks very pleased to see him. 

“Ah,” Thor says. “Heimdall told me you were here.” 

“Resorting to the Gatekeeper to track me down?” Loki jests, as Thor takes the seat on his left. 

“Better than being holed up in your room or masking yourself from Heimdall’s sight,” Thor answers lightly. “What’re you working on?” he asks, glancing at the myriad of papers strewn in front of Loki and the glowing terminal that presents the census data. 

“Your pet project,” Loki answers dryly. “Come take a look.”

Loki begins to explain what he’s done. The sectors are self-evident enough, but he’s also come up with a list of potential candidates for each sector based on the biographical and background information that they provided Heimdall. He can tell that Thor is deeply impressed with his work. Loki both preens and inwardly chafes at the approval he sees in Thor’s blue eye. 

“There are still too many sectors versus seats on the Council,” Loki rattles on. “Perhaps we can knock a few groups out or combine some of the sectors. For example, do we really need a representative from the nobility? There are so few nobles as is. Or take Heimdall, for instance. He’s very well versed in Asgardian law.” 

“So are you,” Thor interrupts, but Loki talks right over him. 

“He could easily take the place of a lawmaker temporarily,” Loki suggests. “Though I suppose you’d want Heimdall on the Council permanently,” he adds as an afterthought. “Sorcerers and healers are both _seidr_ practitioners” he goes on. “Though there is more science in healing. Still, the disciplines are closely related enough that perhaps only one representative is necessary.”

“That could be you,” Thor suggests again. 

“No,” Loki says quickly. He has his own reasons for wanting another sorcerer on the Council, but he’s not ready to share those plans with Thor yet. “If you want me to represent a group, I’d rather it be the artists. Or the nobles, if we must have them.” 

“The arts have always been one of your passions,” Thor says with a smile. 

Loki brushes off his brother’s easy affection with a wave of his hand. “Take a look at the candidates,” he tells Thor. “See if there’s anybody you’d like to add to the lists. We can begin interviews tomorrow.” He’s about to stand up, but Thor’s hand on his arm stops him. 

“This is good work, Loki,” Thor says seriously. “Thank you.”

Once more, Loki feels that odd conflicting sensation – a certain amount of pride that Thor has acknowledged his work, followed immediately by disdain that he would seek or need his brother’s approval when for so long it was denied to him. He stands. 

“Dinner, later?” Thor proposes, his hand still a heavy weight on Loki’s arm. 

Loki willfully ignores the note of hopefulness that he hears in his brother’s voice. “Perhaps,” he says sedately. They usually share at least one meal together in the cafeteria, though sometimes Loki times his appearance when he knows that Thor won’t be there. 

“My cabin.” 

“Not very sociable of you.” 

“I think I’m allowed a quiet dinner with my brother from time to time.” 

“But not tonight,” Loki says firmly. 

“Fine,” Thor agrees, mildly exasperated. “Seven,” he pushes, fixing a time. “In the feasting hall.” 

“Seven,” Loki repeats. “In the _cafeteria_.”

* * * * *

Dinner that evening is a raucous affair. Loki prefers to eat early or to eat late, thereby avoiding the busiest hours, but Thor is always in the midst of things. Their table is more crowded than usual. Thor sits on his right, the Valkyrie in front of him. Heimdall is on his left. Korg, Miek and a few of the Sakaarian gladiators have joined them as well, as has the Hulk. It’s a wonder the table doesn’t tip over with the Hulk and Korg both seated on the same side. Loki casts a balancing spell just to be safe. Heimdall notices the burst of _seidr_ and divines what it’s for.

“What would you do if I wasn’t here?” Loki asks him. 

“I would politely ask one of them to sit on the other side,” Heimdall answers matter-of-factly. 

“Heimdall,” Loki muses. “Always so direct.” 

“And you, my Prince,” Heimdall returns. “Always so crafty.” 

Loki chuckles at Heimdall’s words. Coming from the Gatekeeper, they’re a veritable compliment.

The Valkyrie is keenly observant during the meal. Loki can feel her watching both Thor and himself. He feels as though she’s gauging their dynamics, trying to understand a deeper meaning to their relationship. Loki is unfazed by her obvious scrutiny. He’ll have her decision after the meal, and he’ll wager that it’ll be favorable. When Loki stands to take his leave at the end of the meal, the Valkyrie does as well. Thor doesn’t notice this until he tries to convince Loki to stay awhile longer and join a drinking match among Korg, the Hulk and himself.

“I know my limits, brother,” Loki tells him. “It would hardly be a fair competition.” 

Thor is about to turn to the Valkyrie and persuade her to join his team, when he realizes that she is waiting on Loki. Thor’s gaze shifts between the two of them with a dawning understanding. 

“Previous engagement?” he asks Loki, his voice somewhat harder than usual. 

Loki smiles sweetly. “Yes,” he confirms, knowing that the wager is foremost in his brother’s mind. 

Thor’s nod is a little stiff when Loki and the Valkyrie leave the table. Loki feels his brother’s gaze on his back until he exits the cafeteria.

* * * * *

Loki and the Valkyrie part ways at the cafeteria entrance, she to procure alcohol from her secret stash before meeting Loki at his cabin.

“We could have a drink in your cabin,” Loki had suggested earlier. 

“It’s a bloody broom closet,” she’d replied. 

“Mine isn’t much better.” 

“But it’s still _better_.” 

Fenrir is curled up asleep on the bed when Loki re-enters. He’d been fed earlier. The Valkyrie saunters in a few minutes later (Loki had left the door open for her). 

“This is _much_ bigger than a broom closet,” she declares. 

Loki doesn’t comment. The cabin isn’t even the size of his old bathing room in the palace in Asgard, but he’s not about to give her an opportunity to say something disparaging about being born royalty. He _knows_ he’s lived a privileged life. It’s precisely why he’s such a snob.

The Valkyrie wastes no time in making herself at home, kicking off her boots and stretching out beside Fenrir on the bed. Fenrir doesn’t even wake at the disturbance. She passes a large bottle of a clear liquid to Loki who pulls out a glass. At the first sip, he grimaces. 

“You couldn’t have brought something that doesn’t taste like battery acid?” he asks, passing the bottle back to her. He knows she’ll drink from it directly. 

“Sorry, Your Highness,” she says. “If you wanted a fine wine, you should’ve raided the Vanaheim royal stash.” 

“Hmm…I just might,” Loki muses. Freyja _had_ given them some good wine for special celebrations. He takes another drink of the horrid liquid anyway. “Have you come to a decision?” he asks without preamble.

“You’re just as pig-headed as your brother when you want something,” she comments. 

“I can be direct when the occasion calls for it,” Loki says, implying that there’s no point in beating around the bush when dealing with the Valkyrie. 

She smiles but doesn’t answer his question, crossing her legs as she takes another long drink. After a long silence, she says somewhat somberly, “This spirit journey of yours is probably going to end badly. You two have too much history and obviously a ton of baggage. But I guess the journey is a way for you to work things through. So, yes. I’m going to help you.” 

Loki nods, trying to keep his victory smirk to a minimum. “You can’t just tell Thor your name,” he advises. “He’d get suspicious. You have to make him work for it.” 

The Valkyrie laughs at that. “Don’t worry,” she assures him. “He’ll work for it.” 

That should be the end of their evening, but there’s still half a bottle of battery acid to go. To Loki’s surprise, they fall into an easy conversation once the wager is settled. He realizes as the Valkyrie talks that this is the first time they’ve spent an extended amount of time together that doesn’t involve ship’s business or anything to do with her station and his rank. A part of him can’t wrap his head around the idea that he’s sharing _drinks_ with the _Valkyrie_ in his cabin for _fun_. That’s something…friends…would do. And on the Valkyrie’s short list of friends aboard _The Haven_ , Loki would’ve ranked the Hulk and his brother above himself. Maybe even Korg.

But the Valkyrie can’t seem to stop talking. Her words are a bit slurred now. (Loki has refilled the bottle of battery acid thrice, though he’s only had three glasses of the poison himself. It’s potent stuff, which is probably why she chose it.) She talks mainly of Sakaar and her time there. She seems to have enjoyed it, though her days were spent largely at the bottom of a bottle. When she wasn’t drinking herself into a stupor, she was capturing gladiatorial candidates for the Grandmaster, enjoying the sport in the arena or attending the Grandmaster’s notorious parties. There was never a dull moment in Sakaar. 

“I first saw you at one of those parties,” she tells him. 

“Oh?” 

“Yes,” she confirms. “You caught my eye immediately. So different from the Grandmaster’s usual guests.” 

“How so?” 

“Aristocratic. Noble born. A courtier in a jester’s court.” 

Loki laughs lightly. He reaches for the bottle and pours himself another drink. “You make it sound like I didn’t fit in.” 

“You didn’t,” she says flatly. “No wonder the Grandmaster was so drawn to you. Like the proverbial moth to a flame.”

Loki sips. He can hardly taste the alcohol anymore, save for the burn when it passes down his throat. Perhaps that’s for the best. The Valkyrie has told him before how she watched him with the Grandmaster, but he’s learning tonight just how closely she was paying attention. In fact, she’d clearly paid far more attention to him in Sakaar than he had to her. 

“I knew you were Asgardian right away,” she says, almost smugly. 

“Then you were mistaken,” Loki reminds her. 

“Maybe not in blood,” she concedes with a roll of her eyes. “But you’re Asgardian in every other way that matters.” She rolls over on her side, propping her head in her hand as she studies him. “I was amazed to see another Asgardian in the Grandmaster’s court. I wondered what brought you so far from home.” 

“Apparently, the same reason as you,” Loki replies. 

She smiles lazily. “And that reason has finally been destroyed.” She sounds deeply satisfied. In the short silence that follows, she asks, “How did you know my name?” 

“Basic inductive reasoning,” Loki says. “Your memory of the Valkyrior’s last fight with Hela. Your blond companion who was killed? I felt your pain and anguish, your helplessness and anger at being unable to save her. She was your lover.” 

The Valkyrie visibly tenses at his words. 

“I recognized her from my studies,” Loki continues. “She was the famous Sigrún, the ‘Victory-Rune.’ And if she was your lover, then you must be Brunnhilde, the former leader of Odin’s Valkyrior.” 

The Valkyrie is no longer smiling. She grabs the bottle roughly and drinks the remaining alcohol (about one third) until there is only one finger left. Then she holds the bottle out to Loki, her look demanding. With another flick of his wrist, the bottle is refilled a fourth time. She drinks some more before settling back on the bed, the bottle pressed to her chest. 

“Sigrún,” she says softly. 

Even after all this time, Loki can hear the heartbreak in her voice. He has an uncharacteristic desire to comfort her, but he doesn’t know how or if the sentiment would even be welcome. He closes his hands over his glass, lest they do something foolish. 

The Valkyrie clears her throat, drinking some more. When she looks at Loki again, her eyes are remarkably clear, more focused than they had appeared just moments before. The cocky smile is back. Loki can recognize a defense mechanism when he sees it. 

“I haven’t had a lover, a _real_ lover in centuries,” she drawls. “When it comes to men, you’re more my type than your brother.” 

“Oh?” Loki says with both mild interest and mild alarm. “You don’t subscribe to the big, blond, muscly myth?”

“I like my men tall, dark and cunning,” she says, baiting him. 

Loki smiles at that, but also leans slightly away from her. She notices the action and laughs. 

“Relax, Your Highness,” she tells him. “No matter how drunk I get, I won’t take advantage of you. Your brother would throw me out an airlock, Council member or not.” 

It’s Loki’s turn to laugh. “That obvious, is he?” 

“Painfully so,” she replies. “You might as well wear a giant sign saying, ‘Property of the King.’” 

Loki laughs again. “Thor does have a possessive streak,” he agrees. 

“And a protective streak,” she amends. “But only for the people whom he truly loves,” she adds, rather seriously. “And there’s nobody that he loves more than you.” 

Loki can feel himself flush. He can’t believe her boldness, her honesty. He can’t tell if it’s the effect of the alcohol (she hardly seems drunk now) or if she’s merely using the alcohol as an excuse to say what she really wants to say. 

“I don’t think he has much choice,” Loki says, somewhat defensively. “I’m the only family he has left.”

“Yes, but –“ she hesitates, her other hand drifting to where Fenrir is finally stirring. The pup has been sleeping for hours. “I get the sense that it’s more complicated than that. That your history is…complex.” She shrugs. “I don’t pretend to understand it and based on what I’ve pieced together from others – it sounds completely fucked up.” 

“Eloquently put,” Loki agrees, taking a drink. 

“This spirit journey of yours could break him,” she says bluntly. 

“It could break me,” Loki retorts. 

“No,” she says, so softly that Loki almost doesn’t catch it. “No,” she repeats. “You’ve always been the stronger brother, even if only a handful of people can see it or choose to acknowledge it. This journey won’t break you.” 

Loki feels impossibly weary at the direction their conversation has taken. It has echoes of what the shaman told him as well. The Valkyrie is too perceptive for her own good. He doesn’t regret asking for her help, but he didn’t count on the therapy session that would accompany sealing their own bargain. He stands. 

“Move over,” he tells her, placing his half-empty glass on the nightstand. 

She shifts until her back is to the wall. Loki takes off his boots, strips off some of his outer layers but leaves his pants on, and then stretches out on the bed beside her. Fenrir is pleased to see him, climbing onto his chest to give them more room on the narrow bed. 

“Should I refill that?” Loki asks the Valkyrie, vaguely gesturing in the direction of the bottle. 

“No,” she says, her voice sounding fond. “I’ll manage.”

Loki nods faintly as his eyes drift shut, one hand stroking Fenrir. He’s not planning on kicking the Valkyrie out of his bed, but he’s not sure if she’ll stay either. He gets an answer to his unspoken question when he feels the bed dip as she shifts closer. They’re not touching, but they’re very close. He can smell the scent of her shampoo and feel the heat of her body. She’s curled up on her side, her head almost, but not quite, touching his shoulder.

* * * * *

An unfamiliar rustling wakes Loki up, together with a heavy knocking on his door. He’s greeted by the sight of the Valkyrie on her hands and knees rummaging about on the floor.

“What’re you doing?” he asks. 

She looks up and glares at him. “Your dog has hidden one of my boots,” she says accusingly. 

Fenrir is sitting on the floor, the picture of innocence except for the mischievous glint in his blue eyes. 

“He gets that from you, you know,” she adds, going back to searching. 

Loki sits up and winks at his spirit animal. He would swear that Fenrir’s blue eyes are dancing with mirth and he feels a rush of warm affection for the pup. 

“It’s hardly a big room,” he tells the Valkyrie. “He can’t have hidden it very far.” 

The knocking on his door resumes. 

“Are you going to get that?” she snaps. 

“Are you always this cheerful in the morning?” Loki snaps back, but he does drag himself out of bed. “It _is_ still morning, isn’t it?” He reaches for the clock on the nightstand. It’s barely morning. In fact, it’s almost noon.

The persistent knocking continues. “All right!” Loki yells in the direction of his door just as the Valkyrie lets out a triumphant cry. There’s so much noise and commotion that Fenrir begins to bark because why not add to the din? 

Loki stands up and makes his way to the door, hitting the control panel with more force than necessary. “What?” he says irritably, as his door slides open.

Thor is on the other side, looking disgustingly cheerful and alert while Loki is disheveled and grumpy. He feels like something crawled into his mouth and died. That drink was vile last night, but it’s even viler the morning after. Whatever Thor was going to say, his bright smile is wiped away by the sight of the Valkyrie on Loki’s bed and the obviously rumpled bed covers. Thor’s brow furrows and Loki immediately wants to laugh. He knows what conclusion his brother has jumped to and he’s of no mind to disabuse Thor of it. 

“Loki,” Thor begins, his voice uncertain. Before he can continue, the Valkyrie has finished putting on her boots and ducks between the two of them.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” she greets Thor as she slides by him. She gives Loki a meaningful look when she’s standing in the corridor. “Training room, four o’clock,” she tells him. “Two more rounds.” 

“I don’t recall agreeing to that,” Loki replies. 

“Negotiation is an ongoing process!” she singsongs back to him as she saunters down the hallway. 

Loki sighs, briefly leaning against the doorway. “How she can be so energetic after the poison we drank last night?” he says, half-wonderingly. 

Thor’s expression is unreadable. “You both did sleep until noon,” he points out.

“Almost noon,” Loki corrects. “There’s still fifteen minutes.” He eyes his brother. Thor’s expression may be unreadable, but he can feel his brother’s displeasure rolling off of him in waves. He pushes himself off the doorway and walks back into his room. “You needn’t worry,” he says over his shoulder. “Our wager is still on.” 

“Using one of my tactics, I see,” Thor says somewhat grimly. 

Now Loki can hear the displeasure in his brother’s voice. It isn’t uncommon for Thor to seduce a woman to get what he wants. Thor’s charm is irresistible and seduction is a tactic that almost always works. Once more, Loki finds it laughable that Thor would think him capable of seducing the _Valkyrie_. But then he remembers her almost drunken confession and realizes that perhaps Thor isn’t as off the mark as Loki may believe.

“But not to the same effect,” he answers, somewhat evasively. “I need a shower,” he announces. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?” 

“Yes,” Thor says, as though shaking himself out of his thoughts. He finally steps inside the room and the door slides shut behind him. “I’ve been thinking about the interview process for the candidates. Must it really be so formal?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, couldn’t we meet the candidates more informally, in a group perhaps? Get to know them better. Be more personable before a formal interview.” 

Loki is intrigued by the idea. “What did you have in mind?” he asks.

“The meals,” Thor suggests. “You’ve noticed how the people sit in certain groups? Farmers with other farmers. Engineers. Merchants. We could simply join them at their tables. Talk with them. See their dynamics. Perhaps other candidates will present themselves. What do you think?” 

“I think it’s a good idea,” Loki admits, and it’s true. He can see the advantages in Thor’s strategy. 

Thor beams at him. 

“But you’re better suited to that sort of sociability than I am,” he continues, as Thor’s smile dims. “The people trust you. They’re more relaxed around you.” The _than me_ part remains unspoken.

“Loki.” 

Thor is suddenly very near, his hand around Loki’s bicep. Loki can’t even remember his brother closing the distance between them. 

“The people trust you more than you think,” Thor says gently. “It would be good for you to be among them more. As yourself, not as…” Thor trails off, unable to say Odin’s name. He tries again. “They know that you ruled over them these past few years. They accept it.” 

Loki’s lips curve into a sly smile. “I ruled them through deception,” he reminds Thor. “Not that there’s anything they can do about it now.” 

Thor’s expression is exasperated but also persistent. He hasn’t released Loki’s arm. “Join me at lunch. We’ll sit with the farmers. Or engineers. Whoever’s there. You read people differently than I do. Sometimes I’m too trusting. But you’re –” 

“Too suspicious?” Loki supplies with another sly smile. 

“That as well,” Thor agrees, but he’s also grinning. 

“I’ll meet you there,” Loki finally says. “I really do need a shower.” 

“Do you need someone to wash your back?” Thor offers with a teasing grin. 

“I can manage,” Loki replies, gently brushing aside his brother's flirting. Thor finally releases his arm. “I’ll just meet you there,” he says again, heading for the en-suite. 

“I’ll wait,” Thor says, settling himself at Loki’s desk before Loki can say anything else. He seems to think that Loki will back out if he doesn’t escort him personally.

Belatedly, Loki thinks of the shelf of books above his desk. The two books on the dreamscape are there, though in his paranoia, he’d disguised the titles. He puts his concerns aside as he steps into the en-suite. After all, what are the chances of Thor _reading_?

* * * * *

Loki soon has a better understanding of Thor’s plan when they seat themselves with the farmers at the cafeteria. The group was surprised to see them, but welcomed them readily enough, pleased by the attention from the King. Thor is at ease, always comfortable with the social aspects of his station, but Loki is more restrained, uncertain how to behave among farmers. For all his disdain towards the nobility, he at least knows how to deal with them. Common folk, on the other hand…

His thoughts are broken by the tugging of a small child on his arm. Loki looks to his right. A little girl with blond curls is holding onto him. 

“Is it true that you have a puppy?” she asks. 

“Mara!” The child’s mother, presumably, rushes up from the end of table. Loki brushes off her concern with a wave of his hand. 

“It’s true,” he tells the child. “I do have a wolf pup.” 

Her smile is radiant. “May I see him?” she asks, hopefully. 

Loki turns and points to where the Valkyrie is sitting at the royal table across the room. “He’s over there, having his own meal,” he explains. “You can see him after you’ve finished eating. How does that sound?” 

The girl considers this before nodding. “It is acceptable,” she states.

Loki smiles at that serious response and Mara curtsies to him. He nods in acknowledgement and then Mara’s mother bustles her away, giving Loki an apologetic but thankful smile. 

“My niece is headstrong for her age,” says the man on Loki’s right. “My name is Thialfi, sire,” he continues, introducing himself. “You probably don’t remember but you negotiated a dispute between myself and a market vendor –” 

“Over the price of your grain,” Loki finishes for him. “I do remember. You won that settlement.” 

Thialfi is evidently surprised that Loki would recall what must’ve been such a trivial dispute in the eyes of the King. “It was a very fair settlement, Your Highness,” he says. 

“I should hope so,” Loki says. “That vendor was a cheat.”

Thialfi chuckles quietly in agreement. And that is how Loki got to know Thialfi better. The farmer is intelligent and thoughtful, although younger than the other candidates. Age means more experience, but it also shouldn’t be a barrier to joining the Council. Loki mentally adds Thialfi to the list for a formal interview. He can see how Thor’s plan is working already. 

When the table disbands, Loki takes Mara, her mother and Thialfi to the royal table where Fenrir is now playing with the Valkyrie. Introductions are brief because Thor drags him off to join another group, this time composed of engineers and scientists. Loki can see that Thor intends to use the full three hours (two and a half since they arrived late) allocated for the midday meal, and he suspects the same cycle will happen during the evening meal; then the morning meal the following day until they have talked and socialized their way through the entire Asgardian community. Loki feels the kernel of a headache at the mere thought of it. Still, he plasters on his most princely smile (he can be charming too when he must) and has intelligent conversations with the scientists and engineers, all of whom prove to be competent at their professions.

The midday meal spills into the afternoon and Thor is practically holding court in the cafeteria as other people approach him with ship’s business and day-to-day matters. Loki can tell that his brother can no longer be bothered to move. A little before four o’clock, Loki excuses himself, somewhat thankful that he has an excuse to leave, even if it means more sparring with the Valkyrie. She’s dressed in her training gear, running through forms when he arrives. 

“Been busy, Your Highness?” she smirks when Loki joins her on the mat. 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, and instead gives her a look that says, _Wait until it’s your turn_. When he finally continues the conversation, his words almost make her stumble. 

“My brother thinks we slept together last night.” 

She whirls to face him, her look incredulous. Then a mischievous smile spreads across her face. “But we _did_ sleep,” she says playfully.

Loki grins despite himself. 

“Did you disabuse him of that notion?” she asks seriously, after a moment. 

“No,” Loki replies. “Will you?” 

The mischievous smile is back. “Not yet,” she answers. “Not until he’s ‘won’ your wager.”

* * * * *

The next few days follow the same pattern. Loki spends the meals with Thor getting to know the people better. It’s an enlightening experience. He adjusts the potential list of candidates for the Council as they go along, eliminating names and adding others. The formal interviews will begin soon, though the people are yet unaware that Thor plans to reconstitute the Council. When they meet the sorcerers and healers, Loki is particularly interested. He selects a few from the group and asks to meet them separately. Of course, they agree. Among the other people, he also chooses two architects and two engineers. He’ll meet with them later, waiting to see if any of them will make the Council.

Loki doesn’t know what progress the Valkyrie is making with Thor or how she’s making his brother ‘earn’ the knowledge of her name, and he doesn’t ask. Oddly, he finds that he trusts her. On the fourth day after their sleepover, she passes by him in the hallway and says a quick, “It’s done.” Before Loki can stop to ask what she means, Thor has rounded the corner and is marching toward him, a familiar shit-eating grin on his face. 

Ah. 

Loki holds his ground when Thor stops in front of him, so close that he’s crowding into Loki’s personal space.

“I’ve won, brother,” he says, practically glowing with pride. Underneath Thor’s bluster, Loki can detect the faintest current of relief. He can see it in the crinkle around Thor’s blue eye as he smiles at Loki. 

“Her name is Brunnhilde. And she’s not just any Valkyrie,” Thor adds. “She was the Captain of the Valkyrior.” 

“Is that so?” Loki asks, feigning wonderment. 

“It is so,” Thor confirms. “She was Father’s right-hand.” 

Loki nods, glancing at the floor as if in thought. “I suppose I’ll be sharing your bed tonight,” he says, looking up after a moment. 

“ _Every_ night,” Thor amends. 

“Don’t expect me to move in,” Loki warns him. “I like having my own space.” 

“Of course, Loki,” Thor says magnanimously. “Whatever you wish.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Emily_83 who provided the dream suggestion in this chapter based on the wonderful deleted scene between Thor and Loki prior to Thor's coronation. If you need a refresher, here's a [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P23aKF-694k). (My dear, this is probably not what you expected. Once I began building the backstory, I just couldn't seem to stop. I hope you still enjoy it.) 
> 
> I also feel I have to warn people that this chapter is a huge mish mash of Norse mythology, movie lore and comics lore, so purists will be offended. You might want to stay away or read with caution. 
> 
> Thirdly, I wrote the last third of this over-sized chapter and edited it while under the weather, so expect more errors than usual. I apologize. I'll fix them later. 
> 
> ~~Finally, I'm behind in replying to comments. I'M SO SORRY.~~ Believe me when I say that all feedback is important and is always a big boost. ~~I will get to those last few comments tomorrow night. Right now, I need sleep. I can't believe I have work in the morning. Ugh.~~

Asgard, the home of the Aesir, later combining with the Vanir to form the Asgardians, was also known as the Realm Eternal. As a continent however, it was not comprised of the city of Asgard alone. No, it had distinct subdivisions such as Valhalla, the realm of the honored dead; Nornheim, the home of the Norns; and the Realm Below, the land of the savage rock trolls who would occasionally attempt to destroy the peace and prosperity of the Realm Eternal. Then there were other regions such as Gundersheim, Ringsfjord, and Skronheim among others. These regions lived under the rule and protection of the Allfather, as part of the kingdom of Asgard.

There were, however, exceptions. Nornheim was one of them. It was a completely independent kingdom in which the goddesses of destiny lived and watched over the Well of Mimir, weaving the fates of those in the Nine Realms. Thor, though always respectful, did not enjoy visiting Nornheim. He had nothing against the Norns, but they were not the rulers of their kingdom. To this day, he does not precisely understand the relationship of the Norns to the Queen of Nornheim, the Mistress of Magic, save that they co-exist peacefully and are all magical beings. No, what Thor dislikes about Nornheim is Karnilla, its Queen and one-time (part-time?) lover of his brother.

He is riding to Nornheim now on his white stallion, following the sleek black stallion of his brother’s. Loki is in a good mood today (he’s always in a good mood when he visits Nornheim and that too makes Thor chafe), though their task might prove to be unpleasant. Thor can only hope so. Physical activity – preferably battle – would suit him right now. He urges his mount forward until he is abreast of Loki. His brother turns and smiles at him, and Thor forgets his irritation from moments before. Of course, he will accompany Loki to Nornheim just because Loki asks.

“I still don’t understand,” Thor says, as Loki eases his mount into a trot and finally a walk. Thor does the same. They are nearing the borders of the Norn forest, at the heart of which is the Nornkeep. “Why are we here?” 

“It could be nothing,” Loki shrugs, but his alertness tells Thor otherwise. His brother is in his element in this land of magic while Thor only has his physical senses to guide him; it makes him uneasy. Out of instinct, his hand reaches for Mjolnir, the hammer a familiar, comforting weight on his hip. 

“Tell me again,” Thor says, curbing his impatience. “What did the message say?” 

“It wasn’t a message per se,” Loki says, also sounding like he’s trying not to snap at his brother. He’s given this answer several times already, each time seeming to provide less information than the time before. “It was more of a feeling. A sense of…danger. Distress.” 

“Karnilla? Distressed?” Thor repeats disbelievingly. 

Loki looks at him, his brow furrowed. “She isn’t invincible, Thor,” he says, half-chastising. 

“She damn well acts like it,” Thor mutters. Louder, he says, “Heimdall would’ve seen something.” 

“Heimdall isn’t invincible either,” Loki reminds him. “There are ways to block his sight.”

He gives Thor a meaningful look and Thor feels his cheeks go warm. He’s well aware of Loki’s own ability to do that and his brother’s primary reason for doing so. He’s a bit unsettled by the insinuation. If someone _is_ blocking Heimdall’s sight, then that someone must have considerable power. Unless it is Karnilla herself. But why then would she send Loki a ‘distress’ signal? Unwilling to give in to his suspicions, Thor says, “Father didn’t sense anything.” 

“Father isn’t as close to Karnilla as I am,” Loki replies, too offhandedly for Thor’s liking.

Thor feels a bud of jealousy bloom in his chest. The jealousy is selfish. Worse, hypocritical. He knows Loki has other lovers. He himself takes others to his bed. His bedroom conquests are almost as renowned as his feats in battle. It’s all part and parcel of being the Crown Prince of Asgard. He has a reputation to maintain. He can hardly expect his brother to be faithful to him…and yet. 

And yet…he would give it all up if he could have Loki in that way, in a way that is forbidden to them. To be free and open with his affection, to not have to hide or pretend. Sometimes he thinks Loki doesn’t understand how much he means to Thor, that he isn’t some diversion like all the others that warm Thor’s bed. Thor will _always_ return to him. Loki is the only one that matters. But while Thor is rooted in sentiment, Loki is far more practical. He talks about a time when Thor will be expected to marry and produce an heir. He understands that there is no future for them and he seeks to remind Thor of that. Thor always laughs that reasoning away ( _It is a distant, distant future, Loki_ , he often says), but his heart clenches every time. He dreads the day that Loki won’t return to him.

“If you really didn’t want to come, you should’ve just said so,” Loki is saying to him now, snapping Thor out of his thoughts. 

“No, Loki,” Thor immediately protests. “We’re brothers. We must always have each other’s backs. If you need me, then I am there.” 

Loki’s smile is softer this time, more forgiving, when he looks at Thor again. Thor is about to say something else, when Loki holds up a hand for silence. Instinctively, they bring both their horses to a halt. 

“What is it?” Thor whispers after a several seconds have passed. He can detect nothing amiss. 

“The forest,” Loki whispers back. “It feels different.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“There’s magic here.” 

Thor shoots his brother an incredulous look. He knows next to nothing about magic, but even that statement seems…well…rather obvious. 

“It’s not Asgardian magic,” Loki clarifies for him, darkly. 

Thor feels his tension returning. Loki’s statement is confirmation of a foreign presence, possibly an invader. Certainly someone unexpected has been here, is perhaps _still_ here. 

“Let’s go,” Loki motions, nudging his horse forward. Thor does the same.

Side by side their stallions walk into Norn forest. Thor realizes that the forest does feel different. He isn’t attuned to magical forces the way his brother is, but he can recognize patterns and disturbances or lack thereof. Norn forest is unnaturally silent. He doesn’t hear the birds that should be in the trees, or the rustle from the undergrowth of animals moving, or even the clicking of insects. It’s almost as if time has frozen in the forest. The hooves of their horses reverberate loudly on the road leading to Norn keep. 

“Should we move off the path?” Thor asks, feeling as though they are being watched. 

“If we’re being watched,” Loki answers, as thought reading Thor’s thoughts. “I don’t think it makes much difference now.” 

Thor’s responding nod is grim. They continue, their horses becoming more skittish the deeper they draw into the forest. The light also fades the further in they go, which Thor knows is unnatural. Norn forest may be dense, but it’s not a forbidding place and warm sunlight is able to break through the forest canopy. 

About an hour into their journey, Loki stops, dismounting silently. He hands his reins to Thor, before going to the edge of the road.

“Easy, easy,” Thor murmurs to calm the growing skittishness of their mounts. Beside him, Loki’s black stallion is practically prancing in his desire to be away from the place. Without his rider, the animal’s fear is contagious and Thor’s own stallion has begun shifting restlessly underneath him, despite Thor’s attempts to soothe him.

He watches as his brother approaches a large tree – much older than the trees surrounding it – and places his hand on its trunk. Loki’s body is tense, as though he is listening or waiting for something. Long moments pass in the strange frozen time of the Norn forest. 

Suddenly, Thor hears a piercing crack like the sound of glass breaking. Loki steps away from the tree, green eyes wide when he looks back at Thor. A fierce wind blows, colder than any winter wind Thor has known, and with such force that he’s almost knocked out of his saddle in his surprise. His stallion rears. Thor manages not to lose his balance, but he drops the reins to Loki’s mount. The black stallion neighs in fear and bolts, galloping down the path they had come. Thor struggles with his own mount as it rears again, trying to throw him off. He bears down, doing all he can to prevent the animal from bolting.

Around him, the landscape is changing. The perpetual summer of Norn forest is fading, the trees losing their leaves, the ground turning white as its covered in snow. And the wind! From silence to the howling wind as though the voices of wolves are singing through the trees. In a matter of minutes, Norn forest is blanketed in winter, but a winter unlike what is known in the other regions of Asgard. Eventually, the wind stills, but Thor feels frozen by it. When he glances at his brother, Loki, who is dressed even lighter than he is, seems not affected by it at all. Thor has no time to dwell on this since Loki is walking towards him with quick light steps despite the heavy snow on the ground. He reaches Thor’s stallion, the animal still wide-eyed with fear. With one hand on the bridle and another hand stroking the stallion’s neck, Loki whispers something. Instantly, the animal stills and Thor eases his grip on the reins. Loki pats the elegant neck twice before moving to grasp Thor’s proffered hand. Thor pulls him up, and then Loki is sitting comfortably behind him. Thor feels an immense sense of relief when Loki’s arms wrap about his waist. Instinctively, he drops his right hand over Loki’s hand and squeezes. 

“Did you just bewitch my horse?” Thor asks, welcoming the banter to ease the sudden and terrible turn of events. 

“I calmed him,” Loki answers, his breath warm on Thor’s ear. “You should be thankful.” 

“I am,” Thor says. “Now, will you tell me what just happened?” 

“I broke a spell of concealment,” Loki says. “A very powerful one, as you can see, if a sorcerer has managed to blanket the entire Norn forest in this ungodly winter.” 

“We should return to Asgard,” Thor says, about to spur his mount into action. “And bring back the forces necessary to stop this evil.” 

“No,” Loki says, squeezing Thor’s hand. “We don’t know what evil we’re facing. This is a reconnaissance mission now. We must learn more about what has happened here so our forces are better equipped to fight it. Father would’ve felt the breaking of the spell and Heimdall would’ve seen the transformation. Already, Father must be mustering our troops.” 

Thor has deep misgivings about Loki’s suggestion, even as he hears the wisdom in his brother’s words. “The element of surprise is lost,” he reminds Loki. “Whatever enchanter has bewitched this place will know that someone has broken his or her spell.” 

“Then let that enchanter be forewarned,” Loki says boldly, his words lighting a fire in Thor’s belly. “What is it you always say, brother? Together we are unstoppable?” 

Thor turns his head. He catches Loki’s green eyes, challenging and bright. They are even lovelier with the background of winter frost. Again, he wonders at how Loki doesn’t seem bothered by the cold, but perhaps that is because he is now pressed along Thor’s back. Thor himself is warmed by his brother’s presence. He would lean over and kiss him, but the angle is too awkward.

“Wait,” he says, reaching behind to undo the clasps of his red cloak. 

Immediately, Loki understands his intention and helps him. He takes the cloak from Thor and throws it over his own shoulders, securing the garment. Now there are two layers along his back and he can slot even closer to his brother, sharing the warmth of their bodies. Loki pulls Thor’s red cloak forward so that the material falls along his brother’s arms, providing additional warmth. 

“I finally see the advantages of such an extravagant cloak,” Loki murmurs, as he settles comfortably against Thor. 

Thor chuckles lightly, one hand still on top of his brother’s as they ride forward into the snow.

* * * * *

With the spell of concealment lifted, the forest is alive once more. It titters and it howls; it rustles and it moans. There is more movement, but nothing makes itself known to the two princes. They do not encounter anyone on the path, and that too is unsettling. Norn forest has other inhabitants that serve the queen. The road they are on will lead directly to Nornkeep, the stronghold of Karnilla, the Enchantress. Before they reach the wide-open plain surrounding Nornkeep – thereby making an ambush impossible – Loki tells Thor to veer off the path and into the woods.

Thor follows. Though he is normally the strategist in battle – it is his strength, after all – he defers to Loki in this land of magic, knowing that there could be tricks and traps that an untrained person could fall prey to. It would be different if he were on his own, but why be foolish when his brother is with him? They leave Thor’s stallion tied to a tree, Loki running his hand down the beast’s neck one last time as though to assure him. Loki returns Thor’s cloak and on foot, they venture to the edge of the wood. There, they crouch, hidden by the trees as Thor pulls out his spyglass. He scans Nornkeep, the castle looking dark and forbidding in the winter light. The castle looks abandoned. Not even the braziers are burning. 

“Where are the sentries?” Thor mutters, scanning the forward rampart. When he’s finished, he hands the spyglass to Loki who does his own survey of the castle. 

“I do not think the place is abandoned,” Thor says quietly, “though it may look so.” 

“It's not abandoned,” Loki agrees. “Look at the keep. Topmost window.” 

He passes the spyglass back and Thor quickly scans the indicated spot. There is a shadow of movement, hardly discernible, but still there. He cannot tell the form through the darkness.

“Well, what now?” Thor asks, putting the spyglass down and trying to get more comfortable despite the snow that wets everything. “From what I recall, Karnilla uses a shield of magic around Nornkeep and even if something has happened to her, there’s a good chance that defense is still up.” 

Beside him, Loki flashes him a sly smile that makes Thor’s gut twist with worry. “There are ways around that shield,” Loki tells him. He darts forward quickly and before Thor can stop him, his brother is soaring into the sky in the familiar form of a falcon that Thor first saw when he was ten years old. Thor sighs, but remains in the cover of the forest. He watches his brother like a hawk himself as Loki circles the keep twice, the falcon’s sight even keener than the spyglass in Thor’s hand. His heartbeat quickens when Loki suddenly dives down, disappearing from his view. The minutes tick by. They feel like an eternity to him.

In the clear winter air, there is a frightful cry. It is the sound of a falcon in pain and Thor’s heart leaps into his throat as he jumps to his feet, Mjolnir instantly in his hand. Out of the keep, a falcon flies and behind it is a dark shadow. Thor keeps his eyes trained on the scene until the shadow takes on the shape of an enormous eagle, far larger than the size of an ordinary man. Thor can tell that Loki is injured, but he tempers his fear for his brother. Loki’s flight is still smooth and his brother is very clever. He has had centuries to master the form of a falcon, among the other forms that he has favored over time – Thor has lost count and he doubts that he knows them all. He watches as Loki leads the eagle back to the forest where Thor is waiting. His grip on Mjolnir tightens, timing the strike that he’s about to deliver. But Loki doesn’t dive as he nears the forest as Thor expects.

Thor suddenly understands his brother’s plan and he turns around, running as quickly as he is able through the snow to where his stallion waits. He reaches it, quickly untying the beast and mounting. Then he is riding through the forest, keeping sight of the falcon and the pursuing eagle through the canopy. Thor knows that Loki cannot keep this up for long. A falcon is swift and maneuverable, but the eagle is a far more powerful bird. It will catch Loki eventually. He does not know where his brother is leading them, but he follows, urging his mount to keep pace. There is a break in the trees up ahead and it opens into a small clearing. _This!_ Thor thinks with certainty. This is where Loki is leading them. He dismounts even before he has brought his stallion to a halt. He looks up just in time to see Loki make the dive towards him. The eagle is almost upon his brother. Loki flies past Thor’s head and Thor reaches out, smacking the giant eagle on its magnificent chest and hurling the bird to the ground. 

Through his peripheral vision, Thor sees that Loki has landed. He doesn’t wait for his brother to transform; his focus remains on the eagle now on the ground. Such a blow should’ve killed the bird, but the eagle appears only dazed and winded, perhaps suffering from some broken bones. Thor knows there is powerful magic at work here. He lifts Mjolnir again. 

“No!” he hears Loki cry. “Don’t kill him! We need him alive. Bind him.”

Thor heeds his brother’s words. His grabs the eagle just above its talons, pressing the bird’s legs together so tightly that he can’t be scratched by those vicious claws. The eagle is too disoriented to react as Thor drags it towards his stallion. When he is near the horse, the eagle regains its senses and struggles to flap its wings. Thor holds tighter, using his weight and force to keep the eagle anchored on the ground. He doesn’t know how he’s going to reach for the pack on his saddle, but then Loki is by his side, the golden rope that Thor had been about to get, in his hands. Thor holds the eagle down as Loki ties one half of the rope around the talons. The rope has been spelled by their mother. Nothing will be able to break it or cut it. Then Loki viciously places his foot on the flat of eagle’s back and Thor is certain that some of its bones are broken now. The eagle thrashes madly, but Loki bears down even more, putting his full weight on the bird. Thor isn’t sure how they’re going to bind the bird’s wings, but Loki is speaking low words that he can’t understand. 

“Change!” Loki suddenly yells. “Change or I will trap you in this form forever!” 

The eagle quickly stills. To Thor’s wonder, the bird blurs as it transforms. The feathers disappear and it grows even larger, its shape taking on the form of a man. Thor hisses when his skin burns where it touches the creature and he lifts his arm, still holding tightly onto the rope. The creature’s skin is blue with foreign curved markings on it. With dawning horror, Thor realizes that they have caught a frost giant. On _Asgard_. A flurry of questions crosses his mind but he pushes them aside, moving forward. He sees how cleverly his brother has tied the eagle’s talons knowing that they would be the giant’s ankles. He follows Loki’s lead, careful not to touch the blue skin. He grabs the leather and fur cuffs on the giant’s wrists, thankful for that bit of clothing on the otherwise rather undressed creature below him, loops the rope around the thick wrists before securing it once more to the creature’s ankles, effectively immobilizing the beast.

Thor stands up, examining his handiwork with a critical eye, before looking at his brother. It’s then that he notices that Loki is holding his side. “You’re wounded,” he immediately says, moving towards him. 

“It’s nothing,” Loki brushes off, but Thor won’t be deterred. He rounds on Loki, holding him still at the waist while he examines the cut. The eagle’s talons have torn through Loki’s lightweight armor, the armor useless to him while he was in his falcon form. 

“I’ll have to bandage this,” Thor tells him. 

“Later,” Loki says absently, brushing Thor’s questing hands away. 

Again, Thor won’t be deterred. He grabs one of his brother’s wrists, holding it tightly so that Loki is forced to meet his gaze. He runs his thumb over the pulse of that fine-boned wrist – delicate, elegant, but so very strong. Beneath his thumb, Loki’s pulse is steady, calm after the flight and terrifying pursuit. 

“I’m fine,” Loki tells him sincerely. “Tend to my wound later. But first –” He looks behind them and Thor follows his gaze to a secluded grotto that he hadn’t noticed at the far end of the clearing. “Can you bring him there?” 

“What would you do with without me?” Thor teases, vaguely amused that Loki takes his strength for granted. 

“Use magic,” Loki deadpans back, but his green eyes are warm and laughing. 

Despite their unwelcome guest, Thor cannot help himself. He leans down and steals a quick kiss, Loki’s lips now cold from the frost but still soft and pliant. Then he bends down, and securing the frost giant’s ropes, drags the monstrous creature across the snow to the grotto.

* * * * *

The grotto is the entrance to a small cave. At least, Thor thinks it’s small until he actually steps inside and realizes that it’s much deeper and wider than it appears from the outside. He notices the small stone fountain by the grotto’s entrance, though the water that would flow there in summer is completely frozen.

“You’ve been here before,” he observes, watching as Loki brings in the stallion to keep it out of the cold. Their prisoner is lying on his belly on the cave floor, his head turned to face the brothers, his eyes a fierce red as he glares at them. So far, he hasn’t spoken. 

The cave is chilly, but it provides protection from the cold wind gusting outside. Loki does something about the chill, approaching a circle of crude rocks in the center of the cave. Thor understands that it is a hearth of some sort and Loki lights it with a wave of his hand. A green flame bursts forth, filling the cave with its warmth. The frost giant winces and turns his face away from the sudden heat. Thor is familiar with this flame that gives off light and heat, but no smoke so that it does not draw attention to enemies from far away. It is a preternatural flame, whose green fire matches the light in his brother’s eyes. 

Loki sits by the fire and Thor remembers that he must bandage his brother’s wound. He takes the bandages from his small pack, while Loki strips off his armor. Thor cleans the wound with water from his flask before setting to his task. 

“It’s not as deep as I feared,” he murmurs. “You won’t need stitches.” 

“I told you it was nothing,” Loki chides him, as Thor wraps the bandage. The glare he gives his brother is exasperated, but also affectionate. 

“How did you know about this place?” Thor asks, securing the bandage before helping Loki to dress. 

“Karnilla and I would often practice spell work here,” Loki answers quietly. “It may not look like it, but this is a remarkable cave. The magical currents are strong.” 

“I noticed the fountain outside,” Thor tells him. “Is this a place of worship?” 

“An ancient one,” Loki replies. 

Thor feels the stirring of jealousy again at this knowledge, at the idea that Loki and Karnilla shared a secret, magical place. He feels like the Mistress of Magic is a threat to him. He knows that she is. He wonders if Loki would be happy with her, a beautiful immortal as adept in the arcane as he. Thor believes so. Sorcery has always separated him from his brother. It is a divide that Thor does not understand and cannot cross. As proud as he is of his brother’s accomplishments, of Loki’s growing mastery of his _seidr_ , there is a part of Thor that remains deeply resentful as well. It is illogical, but…well…matters of the heart so often are.

There is a warm weight on his arm and Thor meets his brother’s concerned gaze, grateful that mindreading is not one of Loki’s abilities. Loki nods in the direction of their prisoner across the cave, whose face is still averted from the flame. 

“We should interrogate him,” Loki says softly.

Thor agrees. He stands up and hauls the frost giant into a sitting position, careful not to touch his bare skin. The giant looks at him with murder in his eyes. In the firelight, the red eyes gleam even more viciously. 

_Demons,_ Thor thinks. _Savages._

“Who are you?” Thor demands. “How did you enter Asgard? What evil have you wrought here?”

The frost giant remains silent, but his eyes still scream murder. His lips curve into what Thor would describe as a cruel smile, if only it weren’t so ghastly. It enrages him and he strikes the giant across the face, not caring that his own hand burns from the contact. 

“Thor!” Loki immediately says. “Violence will do us no good. The Jotnar are not afraid of pain or even death.” 

“Violence is all these savages know,” Thor sneers, his eyes never leaving the giant’s face. A trail of blood trickles down the side of the giant’s mouth where Thor had made hard contact. The giant spits out the blood at Thor’s feet, his smile now bloody as well. 

“They are a warrior culture to rival our own,” Loki says quietly. 

Thor turns at his brother’s words. He is surprised by what sounds like respect in his brother’s voice, even as he is startled by Loki’s statement. He has never even thought of Jotunheim as possessing a ‘culture,’ much less one that could be compared to Asgard. A warrior race the Frost Giants may be, but they are brutal, savage, conquering creatures. They fight for no other reason than subjugation. They are nothing like Asgardian warriors. 

“But there is something that they fear,” Loki continues, rising.

He walks to where the giant is sitting against the wall of the cave and grabs the creature’s bound ankles. Instantly, the giant begins to struggle, but the golden rope holds fast. He’s helpless as Loki drags him towards the fire. Thor quickly helps his brother, not wanting Loki to aggravate his injured side. Together, they lay the giant along the length of the flame, Thor blocking the giant’s path in case it attempts to roll away. The flames leap higher than before, licking the roof of the cave and their heat begins to rival the intensity of Muspelheim. Even Thor has to look away.

The frost giant is screaming now. His cries are bloodcurdling, surely enough to wake every creature in the forest and alert them to their presence. But Loki seems unperturbed by this and Thor wonders if his brother has spelled the cave to hide the sound or if the cave’s magic possesses that natural ability. The giant is in agony; the sweat pouring off of him might as well be blood. He struggles against his bonds, all to no avail. Thor realizes with shock that the creature is shrinking right before his eyes. 

“Enough! ENOUGH!” the giant screams. 

The flames die away until they return to their normal height and heat. Still, the giant inches away from them and Thor does not stop him. The creature has shrunk by a whole head, and lost some of the density in its limbs and torso. Thor glances at his brother in shock, but Loki’s eyes are trained on their prisoner. They glint a cold green in the fire and Thor is chilled by the sight.

“Now,” Loki says, sitting down once more as if he were about to make tea. “What is your name?” 

“Thiazi,” the giant rasps. 

“Of course,” Loki says, almost slapping himself on his forehead. “The eagle. I should’ve known with the eagle.” He shakes his head at his own idiocy. 

Thor is torn between joining his brother and staying close to the prisoner. Thiazi looks utterly drained. In his weakened state and with those unbreakable bonds, he shouldn’t be able to go anywhere but Thor cannot let his inherent distrust of frost giants fade. He stands over the creature as he looks at Loki, his expression asking his brother for an explanation. 

“Thiazi,” Loki repeats. “Who lives in the mountain stronghold of Thrymheim. He is a great sorcerer.” 

Before Thor can ask how Loki knows this, his brother continues. 

“Does it make you burn, Thiazi,” Loki says, his voice taunting. “To be captured by the sons of Odin?”

Even diminished, the frost giant’s smile is feral and frightening. It is less of a smile than a grimace. “You are stronger than I was lead to believe,” the giant says, the barest hint of admiration in his voice. 

“I am often underestimated,” Loki replies. Thor feels a stab in his heart at Loki’s words, though he knows they are not directed at him. 

“How did you enter Asgard?” Thor asks to distract himself from Loki’s disturbing words. 

Thiazi’s gaze briefly flicks to Thor before settling back on Loki. “He knows,” Thiazi says dismissively. “Yggdrasill has many pathways, if one knows how to walk them.” 

Loki’s expression tightens, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“And why are you here?” Thor pursues. “What do you hope to gain in Nornheim?” 

At this question, Thiazi lets out a full-throated laugh that reverberates around the cave. “You’re too late, sons of Odin,” he sneers. “We have come to claim what was stolen from us, to restore Jotunheim to its rightful glory.” 

It is Thor’s turn to sneer, baring his teeth at the giant lying prone before him. “You cannot reclaim the Casket of Ancient Winters,” he says. “It is safe in the vault of Asgard.” 

“There is more than one kind of magic,” Thiazi hisses. 

Loki springs to his feet. “That’s impossible!” he cries. 

Thiazi turns his red eyes to the younger son. “Is it, princeling?” he taunts. 

“The Allfather would know,” Loki says with conviction.

“Would he?” Thiazi questions in false wonderment. “He did not know of our arrival. It was _you_ who felt our presence, aided probably by that witch,” he adds, referring to Karnilla. His red eyes grow harder, gleaming like gems. “Odin has grown weak. Complacent. He is no longer the God of War, but the God of Peace.” Thiazi scoffs. “He was feared once, but not anymore.”

Thor feels his rage build, hearing the Allfather being disrespected so. He steps threateningly toward the giant, Mjolnir flying into his hand. “Watch your tongue, savage,” he says, warningly. 

“Who is the savage here?” Thiazi challenges, eyes blazing. “When all you know is brute force?” 

“Thor!” Loki says pleadingly, just as Thor raises Mjolnir. “He may still be useful to us.” 

“Listen to your little brother,” Thiazi goads. “Clearly, he is the brains of the family.” 

Thor brings Mjolnir down. He hears Loki gasp. But Thor doesn’t crush the giant’s skull as he wishes. He tempers the blow, striking the earthen floor beside the giant’s head. The ground cracks, but the cave does not crumble around them. He would never willfully put Loki in danger, but the point had to be made. Swiftly, Loki has crossed the fire, his hand at Thor’s elbow. 

“Come with me,” he says quietly.

Behind them, Thiazi’s fear has melted into laughter. The giant’s malicious joy grates on Thor’s nerves, but he allows Loki to lead them deeper into the cave until they have reached its end and are faced by a smooth stone wall. 

“This is far more serious than I thought,” Loki says in a hushed tone. “But he is lying to us. It is not too late. If it were, Asgard would already be lost.” 

“Tell me what this is about,” Thor demands, his frustration rising at his lack of understanding and Thiazi’s taunting that still echoes in his ears. 

“Do you not know what is here in Nornheim? What Karnilla protects for Father?” Loki asks.

It is the last straw. Thor’s anger bubbles to the surface. “I have never understood Karnilla’s relationship to Father,” he spits out. “No one has ever deigned to share with me these magical secrets.” 

Loki draws back, clearly shocked to be the recipient of Thor’s ire. He places his hand on Thor’s vambrace to placate him, and Thor’s rails at the immediate effect the gesture has on him. He does not want to be appeased. Loki steps towards him again, his green eyes piercing, even in the darker passage of the cave. Against his wishes, Thor is captivated by them.

“The source of Asgard’s power is not in the vault, the Eternal Flame or even in the city itself,” Loki explains. “The heart of Asgard’s magic is here, in Nornheim. Not just because the Norns watch over the Well of Mimir where the roots of Yggdrasill lay, but because this is where the Odinforce resides. That is what Karnilla protects for Father.” 

“And why does she do that?” Thor questions. “She, too, thirsts for power. Why does she not simply take the Odinforce for herself?” 

“Because she can’t,” Loki says. “The Odinforce is a birthright, tied to the line of Odin.” His brow furrows in thought. 

Before Loki can speak again, Thor asks, “Do you draw your strength from it?” 

“What?” Loki says, confused. 

“The Odinforce. Do you draw your power from it?” 

“No, of course not,” Loki retorts. “It belongs to Father. And when he passes or when you become King, it will pass on to you. It is _your_ birthright.”

“Where do you draw your power from?” Thor persists, uncertain of why he is pursuing this line of questioning when it takes them further away from the matter at hand. The look on Loki’s face says the same thing, _Why are you asking me this NOW, brother?_ But still he answers the question. 

“I suppose it’s innate,” Loki says, a little puzzled himself. “My receptivity to _seidr_ is something I was born with. Like mother. Something that can be honed with time and practice.” 

“And how did you know that giant was Thiazi?” 

“I’ve read about him. He’s an accomplished sorcerer. There’s little information about the Jotnar in Asgard’s library, but they’re not all savages, Thor,” Loki says. “They possess great magic and from what I understand, are more susceptible to it than Asgardians.” 

“You sound as though you admire them, Loki,” Thor says, concern coloring his tone.

“I admire their use of the arcane,” Loki corrects. “In all the Nine Realms, it is the only magic I have not studied.” He pauses and gives Thor a reproving look. “You have distracted us, brother. Do you not see how grave our situation is? Thiazi claims that they have found a way to tap into the Odinforce.” 

“You said that was impossible,” Thor reminds him. 

“It is!” Loki insists. “The Odinforce cannot be captured or caught. Unless…” His green eyes widen in sudden understanding. 

“Unless what?” Thor asks, trepidation gripping his heart. 

“Unless they have found a way to make it corporeal.”

* * * * *

The reconnaissance mission is over. They both agree that the matter is too grave for them to wait for Asgard’s warriors to arrive, though they have no doubt that those warriors are speeding to Nornheim at that very moment. They must enter Nornkeep and take back the Odinforce themselves before it is secreted back to Jotunheim.

“Is there another way past Karnilla’s shield?” Thor asks. “Or will you change me into a bird?” 

Loki runs his hand along the smooth wall of the cave where they are standing. It turns obsidian at his touch. “Thiazi spoke of the pathways of Yggdrasill,” Loki says. “He does not know that this is one of them. It will take us to the Well of Mimir underneath the keep.” 

Thor has never seen Loki open a portal along the pathways of Yggdrasill before. Once more, he finds himself in awe of his brother’s power and a little fearful of it as well. The obsidian wall glimmers, its surface undulating like black waves. 

“Ready?” Loki asks him. 

Thor nods. Together they step through the portal.

* * * * *

The chamber that holds the Well of Mimir is damp and almost pitch black. It’s also freezing. Loki lights the torches that circle the room with his green preternatural flame.

“Where are the Norns?” Thor whispers. It is strange seeing the Well of Mimir abandoned without the goddesses spinning their looms. 

“I’m sure they’re safe,” Loki says. “They have an arrangement with Karnilla, should Nornkeep ever be breached. Karnilla wouldn’t let any harm come to them.” 

Loki approaches the well, as though he can see something in its depths. He draws back quickly, eyes wide. Thor peers in as well. He sees nothing but the smooth, undisturbed water, its surface as clear as glass. 

“Come,” Loki says, somewhat agitated. “We must find the Odinforce.” 

“Have you any idea where to look?” 

“No,” Loki admits. “But I know how to find Karnilla.” 

Thor doesn’t ask how. He doesn’t want to hear about how his brother has a special bond with the Queen of Nornheim. Now is no time for jealousy. Once more, Loki leads the way, his familiarity with Nornkeep chafing Thor, despite his wishes. Loki’s steps are almost silent, making Thor feel heavy and flat-footed next to him. The corridors of the keep are empty. Everything is silent. 

“Where is everyone?” Thor whispers.

Thiazi had repeatedly used the word ‘we,’ but the frost giant would not give up the names or the number of his conspirators, no matter how intense Loki made the heat of his flame, nor how much the giant suffered and shrunk. Thor had been certain that Loki would kill Thiazi if he had not intervened, and the heartlessness of his brother after speaking of the Frost Giants as possessing a ‘culture’ was also disturbing. It appeared that the information Thiazi had provided before had simply been a means to gloat, so confident was he that Thor and Loki would be unable to stop the plans already in motion. But the giant was prepared to die before aiding them any further. It was, Thor thought with great reluctance, admirable. They had left Thiazi unconscious and at death’s door, still bound. Loki had placed a gag around the giant’s mouth in case he came to his senses and tried to cast a spell to free himself.

Now they are crossing the expanse of the castle’s great hall, keeping to the shadows where they remain hidden. Thor is disquieted by the silence and the seeming abandonment. Is there a spell of concealment over Nornkeep too? He frees his head of those thoughts. Loki would know if there was something amiss. They enter the keep proper and begin climbing its circular steps. Thor realizes after a while that Loki is leading them to the top of the keep where they first spied movement from the border of the forest. At the top of the stairs is an oak door. Before Loki can open it, Thor stops him with a heavy hand on his shoulder. The look Loki casts him is pure annoyance, but he stands aside, allowing Thor to enter the room first. The door is locked, but there is no spell upon it and Thor breaks it open with ease. Mjolnir is in his hand and he’s prepared to fight, but the like the rest of the keep, the room is empty. 

Loki enters after his brother. “Karnilla?” he says, looking around. “I was certain she’d be here,” he says, almost to himself. “This room reeks strongly of her.” Loki’s gaze lands on the floor and he drops to his knees, fingers tracing some scratches on the wood. “Rune markings,” he tells Thor.

With a wave of Loki’s hand, the markings burst to life as though engraved in flame. They form a large circle in the middle of the room. At the center of this circle, black scorch marks appear. 

_Burned like a witch_ , Thor cannot help but think. He has no love for Karnilla, but he has no wish for her to suffer or die in this manner, especially after finally learning about her unique relationship to Odin. 

Loki’s expression grows hard when he looks at Thor. “They tortured her here,” he says. 

“Did they kill her?” Thor asks quietly. 

Loki shakes his head. “I cannot tell,” he admits.

Thor thinks he hears relief in his brother’s voice, at the possibility that Karnilla may still be alive. Thor wishes it were so, his recent jealousy seeming so petty and inconsequential now. 

“Loki,” he says, drawing his brother’s attention. “Look at this.” Half-hidden behind a drape is another smaller door. “There’s an inner room.” 

Loki gets to his feet and follows his brother. This time the door isn’t locked and all Thor has to do is turn the knob. The inner chamber is a small windowless room, shrouded in darkness save for a soft golden glow in its center. 

“Oh my,” Loki says in awe as they approach the golden light. “They’ve done it.” 

The scene is strange but also familiar to Thor. Cocooned in the light as though sleeping under a golden sphere is a small child, no more than three years old. Without Loki telling him, Thor understands that this sleeping boy is the corporeal form of the Odinforce. The boy’s bed is also strange. It’s less a bed than a cradle made of gnarled vines and roots that pulse and glow like the golden sphere. The vines and roots form a column that disappears into the floor, though Thor isn’t sure how that is even possible. 

“Who are _they_ , Loki?” Thor can’t help but ask, although his brother probably has no more answers than he. “And why have they just left him here?”

Loki is examining the unusual cradle, but is careful not to touch it. “Whoever they are,” he tells Thor. “They don’t know how to move him yet.” He points to the roots. “They may have given him physical form, but he is still joined to Yggdrasill. The World Tree will not give him up willingly.” 

“Then we must leave him here?” 

“We most certainly will not.” 

“I take it you know how to separate him?” 

The mischievous glint in his brother’s eye should’ve been a warning, but Thor is too caught up in the perilousness of their situation to notice. 

“I have an idea,” Loki says. That’s when Thor’s misgivings set in. “Mjolnir.” 

“What about Mjolnir?” 

“Mjolnir is a repository of great Asgardian power,” Loki explains. “ _Your_ power, distilled into physical form.”

“Yes?” Thor says, not quite certain he’s following his brother’s reasoning. 

“Then we’ll do an exchange,” Loki continues. “Mjolnir for the Odinforce. Yggdrasill will recognize you. After all, you are the heir to the Odinforce. And even if you weren’t, Mjolnir’s power would be welcomed by the World Tree. It would suffice.” 

Thor shakes his head. “This is unwise, Loki,” he counters. “Without Mjolnir, we are defenseless.” 

Loki scoffs. “Weaker, yes,” he admits. “But not defenseless. Come now, Thor,” he says brusquely. “This is the only way. We came here for the Odinforce. We cannot let it fall into the wrong hands and we do not know how much time we have left. Already, whoever captured Nornkeep may be returning with more forces. We don’t even know where they’ve gone.” 

Thor knows that his brother is right, but parting with Mjolnir is worse than losing a limb. He feels almost naked without his hammer. It has become a part of who he is. He holds it up. 

“What do I do?” he asks Loki. 

“Just slowly put it beside the child,” Loki instructs. “And if nothing happens, lift the boy out of the cradle.” 

“ _If nothing happens?_ ”

Loki shrugs. “I don’t know for certain what will happen.” 

“Loki!” Thor growls. 

“Now, Thor!” 

Blood rushing through his head, Thor gently lowers Mjolnir into the cradle. He hesitates before the metal head touches the golden sphere, wondering if it will encounter resistance, but Mjolnir slips through the golden barrier. Thor swallows, feeling a warmth envelope his hand and creep up his arm as he continues to lower the hammer. The space beneath the sphere is viscous, like moving through molasses or honey, but to his eyes there is nothing there but air. He places Mjolnir beside the sleeping boy, the hammer’s head resting on the pillow. He waits for a moment, but when _nothing happens_ , he reaches in with his other hand and lifts the boy out of the cradle. Again, he half-expects some kind of resistance – perhaps the child even waking in protest – but once more, _nothing happens_. Mjolnir is now encased in the golden light and the roots and vines of the World Tree continue their pulsing. The equilibrium has been maintained. 

“Here, give him to me,” Loki suggests. 

Thor looks at his brother a little hesitantly.

“If we have to fight our way out of a mess, it’s better if your hands are free,” Loki continues. 

“I'm unarmed now,” Thor reminds him, passing the sleeping boy to his brother. He wonders if some enchantment is over the boy as well. He hasn’t stirred at all since Thor disturbed him. 

“Not for long,” Loki answers, holding the boy comfortably so that the child’s head is resting on his shoulder, the boy’s weight more firmly secure on the left side of his body. Thor knows that Loki is ambidextrous, but if given a choice would prefer fighting using his right side. “There are ceremonial armor and weapons in the great hall. Take something on our way back. We must return to the Well of Mimir.”

This time, Thor walks in front, now familiar with the path. They quickly descend the stairs and enter the still silent hall. He spies the armor and weapons that his brother referred to and chooses two gleaming silver swords. He recognizes the twin blades as gifts from the Allfather. They’re about to cross the rest of the hall when heavy footsteps and guttural voices are heard at the other end, in the direction in which they are heading. Thor motions for Loki to hide. He ducks behind a large encasement of armor, tall and broad enough to cover his bulk.

The footsteps grow louder as do the voices. The intruders are in the hall now. Peeking from behind the encasement, Thor sees a troop of ten Jotnar warriors walking in pairs to the entrance to the keep. The lead pair is carrying something, something heavy. Thor can’t tell what it is since it’s covered by a black cloth. He can only surmise that it has something to do with removing the Odinforce. When the soldiers have passed out of the hall, Thor mentions for Loki to follow him. They walk with rapid steps to the other end, but once in the passageway in front of the hall, they find themselves ducking into another room in order to hide from more passing Jotnar. 

“Where did they all come from?” Thor whispers in irritation. He and Loki are both crouched on the floor. 

“The Well of Mimir,” Loki whispers back in sudden understanding. “They’re using it as a portal now that the Norns aren’t there to protect it.” 

“Good thing you put out those torches,” Thor remarks with a smile. Loki’s green preternatural flame would’ve been a dead giveaway that someone had entered the keep. 

Loki gives Thor a small smile in return that quickly turns into a frown. “They’ll know soon enough that Thiazi and the child are missing,” he reminds Thor. “Thiazi was probably left here to protect the child.” 

“Then we must get out of here before then,” Thor replies. He’s about to open the door to their hiding place when Loki stops him. 

“We can no longer go to the Well of Mimir,” Loki advises. “It’ll be too heavily guarded by now and I’d rather not fight our way through throngs of Frost Giants.”

“What do you suggest?” 

“The front door? Or the back door?” Loki shrugs. 

“What of Karnilla’s shield?” 

“It’s to prevent intruders from entering,” Loki explains. “Not for preventing people from getting out.” 

“You sorcerers and the loopholes in your magic,” Thor says, vaguely disgruntled. 

“Yes,” Loki agrees, a smile in his voice. “We’re very tricky.” He gives Thor a quick peck on the cheek. “Now, go!”

* * * * *

They almost make it out of Nornkeep undetected. Almost. But the castle ramparts that had been empty before are now being patrolled by Frost Giants and spears rain down on them when they are only several feet away from the entrance.

“Run!” Thor yells. 

They try, but the snow is deep and impedes their progress. Worse, it appears not at all to bother the Frost Giants who charge out of Nornkeep. In a matter of minutes they are surrounded. Thor looks at Loki rather desperately, knowing that his brother could take to the skies in his falcon form, but not with the child in his arms. When Thor’s gaze moves to the top of the keep they are both thinking the same thing – Mjolnir. But Thor’s mighty hammer is now trapped by the roots of Yggdrasill. When Thor looks down again, his eyes are hard and his expression set for battle. He snarls at the approaching Jotnar. They are _not_ going to die on a frozen plain in Nornheim.

As Thor holds the twin swords in his hands, a mist rises from the ground. It grows thicker and thicker until it has the density of fog. It blinds the Jotnar, but it also blinds them. He steps backward until he feels Loki’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Always on my right,” Thor says to him. 

Out of his peripheral vision, Thor sees Loki nod, and then his brother is transferring to his right side. They can better protect the boy between them this way, and Loki is free to fight using his right side. Thor feels that spike of adrenaline rush through him at the thought of the upcoming battle. He never feels the rush of battle more strongly than when Loki is by his side. Together, he believes they are invincible. He knows that is blatantly untrue, especially when the odds are stacked against them so severely, but he stubbornly clings to the idea nonetheless. He and Loki will fight their way out of this and protect the Odinforce because there is simply no other possible outcome.

And that is what they proceed to do. They move forward as one, Loki thinning the fog in front of them so that they can see their enemy. But the cries of the Frost Giants and the clash of weapons continues to draw the Jotnar to them, despite the heavy fog. Thor makes a mental note that the Jotnar have keen hearing. They are upon him much faster than he anticipates, but he fights them off. Their progress is slow, but they keep moving. Thor doesn’t know what direction they’re headed in – they could be going in a circle – but he trusts his brother to lead the way. Twice he sees a burst of green _seidr_ and knows that Loki has thrown up a shield to protect the boy. Some distant part of his mind marvels that Loki can manipulate the fog and produce a shield at the same time, but he cannot dwell on it. They continue to fight side-by-side.

Time slows down as it always does for Thor during battle, his vision narrowed – especially thanks to the fog – to the immediate circle around him. Always, he keeps track of Loki on his right and knows that his brother is handling himself well, despite the impediment of the child, who has not roused at all. Too often, Loki’s skills in battle are underestimated in favor of an underhanded jab at his _seidr_. But where would they be without his sorcery and ambidextrous skill now? 

“There!” Thor cries, when there is a brief respite. “The tree line!”

He cannot contain the excitement in his voice. They have crossed the Norn plain, leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. The tree line is within sight! Thor feels a burst of renewed energy and he pushes forward. Loki has thinned the fog even more, barely encumbering the line of sight to the woods. They’re going to make it!

In his haste, Thor makes a terrible mistake. He breaks the tight line that he and Loki have formed, leaving his brother exposed on his left side, the side holding the boy. He turns back too late, just in time to see a Frost Giant emerge on Loki’s left. But his brother is so quick. Loki spins and deflects the giant’s weapon with his knife, then ducking and slashing the creature across the belly. Thor breathes out in relief as the giant roars before falling to the ground, Loki’s knife now embedded at the base of its neck. Thor meets mischievous green eyes that say, _And you thought…_

“No!” Thor yells.

Somehow, they have both missed it, the second creature that is looming over his brother. Without thinking, Thor hurls one of his swords at the giant’s chest. It hits its mark, but not before the giant strikes Loki across the back. Loki cries and crumples forward, bracing his weight on his right arm and still trying to shield the boy. Thor rushes forward, the blood pounding in his ears. Around him, the fog begins to dissipate. Thor knows that the injury must be severe if his brother is losing his grip on the spell. He reaches Loki in a matter of moments, but his brother is already unconscious, his energy drained by maintaining the spell and fighting for so long. He pulls out the second sword from the giant’s chest and surveys the scene around him. For the first time, he can see the litter of bodies that they have left in their wake – so many bodies, lying dead and maimed on the frozen plain – and the clear line to the forest that Loki had been taking them. His brother had known all along where they were headed.

Still, the Jotnar approach. Their numbers have dwindled, but they remain a force to reckon with. Thor glances at his unconscious brother and wonders what are the chances of hauling both Loki and the boy onto his back and simply running into the forest. They would not get very far, he realizes. Holding both swords in his hands, he stands in front of his brother’s prone form. He will kill every last one of these savages to protect his brother and the boy.

* * * * *

Thor wakes with a dull throb in the back of his head. As he regains consciousness, the throb also blooms, spreading to the front until it seems his whole head is about to burst. He grimaces. “The light,” he whispers. “Too bright.”

The open tent flap that had let in the light shuts quickly as a figure enters. His vision is a bit blurry, but he recognizes the scent. 

“Easy, Thor,” Sif says, dressed in her battle armor and taking the seat beside him. Thor realizes that he is lying on a battlefield cot. “You took quite a hit to the head, but aside from some minor injuries, you’re remarkably unharmed.” 

“Loki!” Thor gasps, grabbing her arm fiercely. 

“Your brother’s fine,” Sif says soothingly. “Odin had him brought back to Asgard right away, to better tend to his wound.” 

“And the boy?” 

“I don’t know who he is,” Sif admits. “But he’s fine as well. Odin tended to him directly.” 

_Yes, he would have to_ , Thor thinks. Before he can ask anything else, Sif continues. 

“The Jotnar have been defeated. Those you left alive are our prisoners. The Norns have been found. They’re also safe.”

“Karnilla?” 

Sif shakes her head. “No,” she says somberly. “But the Allfather doesn’t seem to despair about that. He will find her.” 

Thor lets go of Sif’s arm and lies back on the cot with a sigh of relief. They survived. Loki’s injury is not too severe. The Odinforce is safe. He shuts his eyes.

“Sleep now, Thor,” Sif says, though her voice is already distant to him. “The people will want to welcome back their hero.”

* * * * *

This dream is very different, Loki thinks absently. Not just its length – every detail of that day has played out with shocking clarity – but in the intensity of his brother’s thoughts and emotions. Beside him, Thor is brooding, watching himself sleep in that battlefield cot. Until this point, Loki has been familiar with all the details. He and Thor had not been separated save for his falcon trip to the keep and Thiazi’s subsequent pursuit. But it’s not just the familiarity that surprises Loki, it’s how open Thor is to him. They haven’t spoken at all, content to watch the dream unfold as observers, but it has been more than that for Loki. They don’t need to speak because Loki has heard every thought and felt every emotion passing through Thor as if they were his own. He has relived Thor’s dream as if he _were_ Thor and that hasn’t happened before.

 _Dangerous, brother_ , Loki whispers to himself in his mind. _You cede to me too much control_.

They are in Thor’s tent. Mjolnir has been returned. Sif and the Warriors Three are keeping his brother company. There is a feast fit for the Crown Prince spread out on a long table from which Volstagg is eating heartily. Thor has been sleeping for hours and now he is subdued, drinking listlessly from a cup of wine as Volstagg talks animatedly of the battle, punctured by Fandral’s interjections and teasing remarks. Sif and the Warriors Three, together with the Einherjar had arrived at the tail end of the battle. The might of Odin’s warriors had driven what remained of the Jotnar back into Nornkeep. The siege of the castle had been brief as Odin had broken down Karnilla’s shield wall and whatever magical barriers the Jotnar sorcerers had put in place.

“The boldness of them,” Sif is saying. “To attack the very heart of Nornheim.” 

“Mark my words,” Fandral says. “There is a traitor. No matter how great their sorcery, the Jotnar could not have accomplished this without help.” 

“Aye,” Hogun agrees. “The Allfather also suspects a traitor. I heard him say as much.” 

“But you, Thor,” Volstagg says warmly, attempting to draw their friend into their conversation. “Your feats are a tale for the ages! To defeat one hundred Jotnar single-handedly!” 

“And without Mjolnir,” Fandral adds. 

“No!” Thor exclaims, very loudly and very suddenly. “Not single-handedly.” 

“Well, of course, Loki was with you,” Fandral says quickly.

Loki watches in fascination as Thor’s anger spills over. He’s been feeling it build in his brother as the others chatted and laughed around him. Thor is happy to see them, but he doesn’t particularly want their company at the moment. Loki knows this. He can feel it. Thor’s thoughts are focused and concerned. Worried. And all he thinks about is… _Loki_. Now Fandral’s dismissal of Loki’s presence is Thor’s breaking point. He stands, gripping his cup tightly and towering over his friends.

“Not just _with_ me,” Thor says passionately. “Loki was by my side when I needed him most. Many times today, I would’ve been lost or defeated in this foreign land of magic without his quick intelligence and the mastery of his own _seidr_.” 

“Thor,” Sif cuts in. “Fandral did not mean –”

“No,” Thor says. “He did not mean. None of you ever do, and yet it remains unspoken. You belittle my brother. You think less of him as a warrior because he is sensitive to forces and energies that are beyond you. And too often I have allowed it. I do not defend him enough. But where would we have been today on that frozen plain surrounded by a hundred Jotnar if Loki had not created the fog that blinded them, that allowed us to thin their numbers so that we would have a chance of escape? Captured or dead. And yet when the tales are told and the songs sung, they will all say how Thor, son of Odin, defeated a hundred Jotnar single-handedly to protect the realm of Asgard. But I will know better. And so will you.” 

“Thor!” Sif calls, but it is too late. 

Thor has stormed out of the tent with Mjolnir flying into his hand.

* * * * *

Loki’s eyes must be as wide as saucers when he turns to look at his brother. Thor’s pensive stance hasn’t changed. Recovering as he had been in the palace, Loki had no idea that this scene had even happened. His heart feels so full. He wonders if that is the residue of Thor’s love overcoming him, or his own love for this brother, and then decides that it doesn’t matter. He places his hand on Thor’s forearm.

“That was quite the impassioned speech,” he says, smiling warmly. He expects to see a similar warm smile greet him, but when Thor meets his gaze, his brother looks distraught and Loki’s own smile dims in concern. 

“I’m sorry, Loki,” Thor says, shrugging his shoulders a little helplessly. “I did not defend you enough. I never did. I should’ve done more.”

Loki remains silent at this confession, but he keeps his hand on Thor’s arm. In his heart, Loki agrees. When he thinks of the teasing and the torment, of the loneliness and the false friends, he feels that Thor should’ve done more. But Thor had been the golden sun, shining too brightly, and Loki had merely been his shadow. He runs his hand up and down Thor’s arm in a comforting gesture. 

“That is all in the past,” he says. 

“No,” Thor says with a shake of his head. “That will never be in the past. You are mine to protect.” 

Loki’s lips curve into a small smile. “Because I need such protection?” he asks, a little coyly. 

“No,” Thor says, refusing to take Loki’s bait. “Because you are my brother, and because I love you.” 

Loki’s breath catches. Thor is bending towards him. He feels Thor’s hand on his waist and then Thor is pulling him against his body. He tilts his head, allowing Thor to plant butterfly kisses along his jaw. “Does the dream end here?” he asks softly.

Thor looks up. “This is what I wanted to show you,” he replies. 

Loki’s sly smile is back. “Yes, but,” he says. “I remember the best part is yet to come.” 

Thor shakes his head fondly. “Very well,” he agrees. “Let us finish this dream.”

* * * * *

They are in Loki’s spacious bedchamber in Asgard. After tending to his back and the cut along his side, the healers had allowed Loki to retire to his own bed, not deeming it necessary for him to stay overnight for observation. That was fortunate, since Thor would’ve had much more difficulty sneaking into his brother’s bed in the healers’ wing of the palace, rather than in Loki’s private apartment.

Loki watches now as dream-Thor enters his room. He glances at the Thor on his left and is seized by a mad idea. With his hand once more on his brother’s arm, he asks, “Will you let me try something?” 

“Try what?” 

Loki contemplates how much he should tell Thor about the dreamscape. “Your mind has been very open to me today,” he begins. “This dream has been different from the others. I have felt and heard your thoughts instead of simply watching a dream unfold. We must be deep in your unconscious for me to feel all that with such intensity.” 

“I have nothing to hide from you, Loki.” 

Loki feels a stab in his own chest at Thor’s honesty. But I have so much to hide from you, he thinks. So much. 

“Being this open allows me more freedom in your dreamscape,” Loki continues. “And I wish to try something, if you’ll let me.” 

“A spell?” 

“Something like that.” 

Thor considers this before he nods. Loki’s grin is a little playful and he steps closer to his brother, placing his fingers on Thor’s temples. “Breathe,” he whispers, shutting his own eyes. 

There is that feeling of vertigo that rushes over them such as when Thor alters his dreamscape. Loki can only hope that his control is as smooth. He can manipulate his own dreamscape seamlessly, but Thor’s is another matter. 

When he opens his eyes again, he is laying down on his left side on a bed that he has slept on for centuries. He shifts and feels a pain lance his back. 

Of course.

Idly, Loki wonders if they are deep enough in Thor’s unconscious that he will leave his brother’s dreamscape with a wound on his back and a cut on his side like the bruise that has since faded from his shoulder. 

“What is this?” Thor asks in wonder. Thor is lying down beside him. They’re both naked. He turns so that he’s facing Loki. “What have you done?” 

Loki’s smile is catlike. “Why watch?” he asks in return. “When we can participate? The detail and clarity of this dream, brother, is nothing short of remarkable.” 

“My body is so sore,” Thor grumbles. “You don’t get that from watching.” 

“I hear that’s what fighting a hundred Frost Giants can do,” Loki teases him. 

Thor throws him a half-hearted glare, but there is too much affection behind it. 

“You were not too sore that night for other activities,” Loki reminds him. “Or have you forgotten?”

Before he can get in any more goading or teasing, Thor has crushed their mouths together. His brother still tastes of the wine that he recently drunk, but Thor kisses like he’s drowning. He presses Loki against him as though trying to mold their bodies into one. When his hand runs over Loki’s wound with a bit too much force, Loki breaks the kiss with a wince. 

“My back,” he says. 

“Sorry,” Thor says quickly, immediately contrite. His touch becomes gentle, almost feather light as his hand moves down Loki’s back coming to rest on Loki’s hip. He pauses for a moment before he slings Loki’s leg over his own hip. 

“Okay?” he asks, scooting nearer so they are chest to chest. 

Loki nods, his fingers tracing Thor’s collarbone. “You could’ve at least bathed before crawling into my bed,” Loki chides him. 

“I have very little self-control when it comes to you,” Thor admits.

Loki laughs, but that also makes his back flare with pain. His pain is brushed away by another one of Thor’s deep, open-mouthed kisses. When they break apart, he is breathless. “How did we ever do this with my back in this condition?” he wonders aloud. 

“Younger?” Thor suggests. “More eager? Thankful to be alive?” His eyes are soft, so full of affection that Loki can hardly bear to look at him. More than ever, he hates their sister for taking away Thor’s beautiful blue eye, for marring that perfect face. “We don’t have to do anything,” Thor continues. “I’m content to just lie here with you.” 

“Such a hopeless romantic,” Loki sighs. His gaze focuses. “I did not cast this spell just so we could lie here and do _nothing_.”

“But your back…” 

“I’ll manage. I did before. Top drawer, behind me,” Loki instructs. 

Thor’s smile is amused as he reaches over Loki and slides open the drawer of the bedside table. Loki can hear him rummaging around until Thor finds what he’s looking for and the drawer closes with a snap. He passes the bottle of oil to Loki who removes the stopper and pours some of the liquid onto his hands. He rubs his hands together and then reaches for Thor’s semi-erect cock. With a few strokes, his brother has swelled to full hardness. 

“You do remember how to do this?” Loki asks, pointedly looking at the bottle of oil that Thor is now holding. His brother’s eyes had drifted shut to better enjoy Loki’s ministrations, but now they fly open, a fierce blue. 

“I remember,” Thor practically growls. He coats his fingers with the oil, his mouth latching onto the smooth column of Loki’s neck as he seeks out Loki’s entrance. The moan Loki lets out at the first breach of his body is positively sinful. He can feel Thor’s cock jump in his hand at the sound and he keeps stroking his brother at a steady pace.

“Loki,” Thor says, his voice strained. “If you keep that up, I will come before I'm even inside you.” 

“Well, we can’t have that,” Loki murmurs, easing his grip and slowing his pace. “Another, please.” 

The stretch of a second finger in him is delicious, especially thanks to Thor’s large, calloused hands. He reaches for his own cock to rub against his brother’s to provide a different kind of friction, and that has Thor groaning into his neck. 

“Loki,” Thor mutters. 

“One more, please.” 

Even with three fingers inside him, Loki knows that is scant preparation for his brother’s cock, but it will have to do. “Enough,” he tells Thor. “I’m ready.”

Thor looks ready as well, eyes half-glazed with lust. He flips them over so that is the one on his back, supporting Loki’s weight. Then he bends and spreads his legs, allowing Loki to settle on top of his abdomen. Loki is somewhat relieved that Thor remembers the position. He shifts forward, putting his weight on his knees as he reaches behind him to grip Thor’s cock with one hand so as to better guide it inside him. Thor’s hands are on his waist and he’s watching Loki like a hawk, looking for any signs of pain or discomfort. He’s supporting half of Loki’s weight as Loki eases down, slowly, slowly. When he’s fully seated, they both let out a groan. 

“A moment,” Loki gasps. 

“Yes, all right,” Thor agrees, but the strain in his voice is evident, and his grip tightens around Loki’s waist.

“All right,” Loki repeats, what feels like long moments later and he rises up again onto his knees. Thor understands the action, and he further draws his legs up for leverage. Loki reaches behind him to grasp one of Thor’s legs for support and then he’s leaning backwards, taking the weight off his back and transferring it onto Thor’s body. 

“Perfect,” he gasps.

The angle is impossibly deep and Loki knows Thor will hit the right spot with every thrust. He meets his brother’s darkened gaze and his small nod is all the permission Thor needs to start moving. His brother starts with smooth, measured thrusts, still watching Loki like a hawk. When he’s certain that there’s no pain there (or pain that’s being overwhelmed by pleasure), Thor drops his hands to Loki’s hips and grips harder. The measured thrusts become more forceful and Loki is whimpering in response. He feels a hot white fire of desire building in his veins, tightening behind his balls. 

“I’m close, I’m close,” he mutters.

He’s about to fist himself, but Thor bats his hand away, hips still pistoning. He takes Loki in his wide palm and a few quick strokes is all that’s needed for Loki to come all over Thor’s chest. He falls forward with the force of his release, bracing himself on Thor’s shoulders. Thor’s hips stutter as his brother rides the crest of his own orgasm and then he’s spilling within Loki. Even spent, Thor is so affectionate, nuzzling Loki’s neck to breathe in his scent and pulling him down for a kiss. Loki eventually collapses on top of him, not caring about the sticky mess that he’s left there. This is Thor’s dreamscape, he thinks. For once his brother can clean up.

“How’s your back?” Thor asks, when their breathing has evened out. 

“Like it’s on fire,” Loki admits. “But it was worth it. Perhaps I should’ve brought some healing stones with me.” 

Thor chuckles, a warm rumble that attempts to lull Loki to sleep, but Loki isn’t quite done with this dream yet. 

“Why are you afraid of my magic?” 

Thor stills. The silence stretches between them. 

“I’m not,” Thor says eventually. “Not anymore.” 

“But I didn’t know,” Loki presses. “The depth of your unease with my _seidr_.”

“I’m not,” Thor quickly says. “It’s not you…it’s…” he falters. “Your magic has always separated us,” he says with a deep breath. “And I feared that one day it would take you away from me. It’s not something we can share.” 

Loki lifts his head, though his back protests at the action. “You are a magical being, Thor,” he says, a little sternly. “Surely you must know that. One of the most powerful beings I know, _God of Thunder_.” 

Stubbornly, Thor shakes his head. “It’s not the same,” he counters.

“Enlighten me.” 

“My power is like an extension of my self, of my physical ability,” Thor says, after some thought. “The people respect it – nay, they _expect_ me to call down lightning or make the heavens thunder. It is raw power. An expression of might like my prowess in battle, but yours…” 

“Is too soft?” Loki offers. “Too feminine?” 

“No,” Thor scoffs with disdain. “You are no _völva_. I’ve seen what you can do. You’re so powerful, Loki. I do not understand the people’s prejudices against _seidr_.” 

“I am no match for you, Thor, in raw strength,” Loki says quietly. 

“No,” Thor concedes. “But you would defeat me through your wits and your guile.”

Loki allows the faintest smile to curl the corners of his lips and he rests his head against his brother’s shoulder once more; Thor’s arm wraps around his waist. He feels as though a détente has been reached. A pleasant one. 

“It was Mother who first said that we would be unstoppable together,” Loki reminds him. “You merely appropriated that saying for yourself.” 

“I did,” Thor agrees. Loki can hear the smile in his brother’s voice. 

“I always thought she meant that we complement each other,” Loki says softly. “In every way. Your raw power, my sorcery. Your strength, my intelligence. Your openness, my guile. Your heart –”

“And _your_ heart,” Thor interrupts. He has dislodged Loki from his side and turned so that they are face-to-face once more. He traces the side of Loki’s face with his fingers. 

“And my heart,” Loki agrees, capturing Thor’s wrist and giving his brother a gentle kiss.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Leytr for providing the dream suggestion in this chapter.

Loki wakes to the warmth of Thor’s body along his back, his brother’s even breathing on his nape and an arm slung about his waist. He lies on his side marveling at the predicament that he’s found himself in. When he’d surfaced from last night’s dream, he’d performed the usual routine of cleaning them both up and then removing the dream from Thor’s mind. That dream had been the longest one yet, and by far the most detailed. He’d lingered on Thor’s words, _This is what I wanted to show you_.

Intention. Motivation. Both he and Thor are making good progress in the dreamscape: Thor through his focus and motivation, Loki through his manipulation of his brother’s dream world. Placing them in the fabric of Thor’s dream had been quite an achievement. It was his most powerful spell yet. There were, however, other negative consequences to last night’s dream. His supposition that he’d been deep enough in Thor’s unconscious to feel the effects of his wounds during the quest to Nornheim has proven to be true.

After stripping the dream from Thor’s consciousness and ensuring that his brother remained in a deep and peaceful sleep, Loki had seen to his own injuries. Thiazi’s cut along his side had been easily tended to; not even a scar remained. His back, on the other hand, had not been so easy to treat. The first challenge was the wound’s location. Using the mirror in Thor’s en-suite, he’d been able to better see the long cut. It ran from his right shoulder blade diagonally across his back, the gash deep and made by an ugly serrated blade. He’d focused his healing energy to reduce the rawness and the angry swelling, healing the flesh so the cut wasn’t so deep. He’d decided to see a healer in the morning. A poultice or a salve and a healing stone would do wonders, and Loki knew that the medical wing of _The Haven_ had those supplies from Vanaheim. Unfortunately, there were no bandages in Thor’s stateroom, so Loki had taken one of the thinner towels and cut it into strips, using it as a makeshift bandage until the morning.

Now, lying on his side, his back is blooming with warmth, not just from Thor’s body but also from the wound. He tries to shift, but Thor’s grip around his waist merely tightens. Thor is generally an early riser, except after feasts and good fucks. That dream definitely qualifies as a good fuck, even if his brother doesn’t remember it. But this won’t do. Now that he’s conscious, his back is screaming at him. Loki takes his pillow and places it between himself and Thor. Then he pushes forward. He darts out of his brother’s embrace and Thor’s arm closes about the pillow instead. Now standing by the bedside, Loki looks down at his sleeping brother. They’d gone to sleep the night before on clear halves of Thor’s wide bed. Of course, once Thor had fallen asleep, Loki had scooted nearer so that he could enter his brother’s dreamscape, but he’d returned to his side of the bed once the dream was over and the clean up taken care of.

Sometime during the night, Thor had found his way to Loki’s side, which doesn’t really surprise Loki. Physical affection has always come easy to Thor, whether in bed or otherwise. His brother likes hugs and kisses, pats on the back, an arm slung about Loki’s shoulder, a hand curling around Loki’s nape – a sign of possession, protection, caring and love. He knows that it’s been hard for Thor to hold back this affection since they boarded _The Haven_. He stays close to Loki – hovering is the word Loki would use – but almost never breaches Loki’s personal space. He doesn’t think Loki wants their old display of physical affection or worse, said affection would send Loki running away from him. Thor won’t take that risk. Loki sighs. His brother is both right and wrong. Loki has always enjoyed Thor’s presence, basking in his brother’s warm smile and easy affection like soaking up the rays from a sun. Even now, he hates how much he craves it – the long years without Thor since he plummeted off the Bifrost, since they found themselves on opposite sides. But it would not do to let Thor know that. At least, not yet. 

It would be easy, so easy to fall into old patterns but Loki sees an inherent danger in that too. They are no longer the same people, and neither of them are naïve enough to think that they could simply return to what they had before. But Loki doesn’t know what they are now, what he _wants_ them to be. He thinks Thor may have a better idea than him, but his brother is uncharacteristically not willing to push the issue, hoping that Loki will reach the same conclusion on his own. It is a fanciful idea, Loki thinks. But it is also the main reason that he agreed to undergo the spirit journey. Perhaps at the end of it, he will know his place.

* * * * *

Loki first returns to his own quarters. Fenrir is scrabbling at his legs the moment the door slides open.

“All right, all right,” Loki says, soothing the agitated pup. “I won’t leave you behind again,” he adds, carrying Fenrir with him into the en-suite. 

The pup’s piercing blue eyes are accusing, making Loki laugh. His spirit animal is so remarkably expressive. Sometimes it seems as though he can understand Fenrir’s feelings and emotions, and in return, the pup seems to understand him intuitively. The shaman had been right. Fenrir was the best possible choice. 

After washing somewhat gingerly and changing into fresh clothes, Loki heads for the medical wing with Fenrir in tow. The pup halts before the double glass doors of the infirmary, cocking his head. 

“You can go ahead to the cafeteria,” Loki tells him. “The staff will take care of you without me.” He should feel silly talking aloud to a pup, but somehow he _knows_ that Fenrir understands. Fenrir eyes him for a moment before he nods. (Actually nods!) Loki watches the pup trot down the hallway. Fenrir knows his way and Loki is secure in the knowledge that no one would dare harm him. When Fenrir rounds the corner, Loki finally enters the infirmary.

“Hello?” he calls out. Although he doesn’t see anyone, he knows that someone must be on duty. He and Heimdall created the crew shifts. 

“Yes?” comes an answering voice. A woman appears from one of the side rooms. “Oh, Your Highness,” she immediately says, when she catches sight of Loki. She hurries forward. “How can I help you?” 

Loki studies the fair-haired woman who looks very familiar. He quickly places her. “You are Mara’s mother,” he says, remembering the precocious child from lunch earlier in the week. “And Thialfi’s sister.” 

“Yes, Your Highness,” she says, blushing slightly. She curtsies before him. “My name is Roskva.” 

“You are also now the senior healer,” Loki adds, recalling the census data. 

Roskva blushes some more. “I hardly have the years to be called that,” she admits. “But such is the way of things.” 

“You were trained by Groa,” Loki continues smoothly. “One of Thor’s favorite healers. You must be skilled.” 

Some of Roskva’s nervousness evaporates at the mention of her former mentor’s name. Groa’s battles with the uncooperative Crown Prince were legendary among the palace healers, but she truly had been Thor’s favorite. “Groa was a good teacher,” Roskva admits, smiling at last. “How can I help you, Your Highness?” she asks again. 

“My back requires treatment,” Loki explains, moving into the room. 

Roskva leads him to an examining table where Loki obediently sits. She helps him pull the loose tunic over his head. Loki had not bothered to re-bandage the wound after washing and Roskva gasps slightly when she sees the angry slash across Loki’s back. She doesn’t ask him how it happened or what caused it. An older healer might have, but Roskva doesn’t feel as though she has the right and Loki won’t volunteer the information.

“I’ve healed the worst of it,” Loki continues, “and reduced the swelling. A salve for the pain and later something for the scarring would be helpful.” 

“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” Roskva says, quickly getting to work. She produces a yellow salve. “Apply this twice a day, in the morning and before you sleep. It will heal the wound quicker, remove the pain and also take care of the scarring.” 

“A truly multi-purpose salve,” Loki comments, accepting the small jar and examining it. 

“I will also lay my hands on you, if that is permissible.” 

“It is your duty, Roskva,” Loki tells her kindly. “You hardly need to ask.” 

She smiles again, another faint blush rising on her cheeks before she walks around Loki. He braces himself, expecting the pain of cells knotting and healing. He feels the heat on his back, a focused energy from Roskva’s hands. The pain is bearable and Roskva has a gentle touch. She’s just finished applying the salve when the Valkyrie enters with Fenrir beside her. Loki arches a brow at his spirit animal, knowing that Fenrir purposely brought the Valkyrie to see him. 

“What’ve you done?” the Valkyrie asks sharply when she sees the long gash on his back. 

Roskva is visibly startled by the other woman’s aggressiveness and she glances at Loki. Loki gives her a reassuring look and says, “A moment, Roskva.” 

“Yes, Your Highness,” Roskva says. “I will bandage the wound in a little while,” she adds, giving Loki a quick bow before disappearing into the same side room as before. 

“Well?” the Valkyrie demands when they’re alone. 

“Why do you assume that I’ve done anything?” 

Her corresponding glare brooks no argument and Loki sighs, eyes dropping to where Fenrir is curled at his feet. “Traitor,” he whispers. Fenrir looks up and Loki swears he feels a burst of fond smugness from the pup. 

“I was fighting Frost Giants,” Loki says plainly, when he looks up again. 

“Frost Giants?” she repeats in patent disbelief. 

“I told you Thor’s dreams were unpredictable.” 

“You can get this from a _dream_?” the Valkyrie asks, gesturing at Loki’s back and now obviously alarmed.

Loki sighs again. “The deeper we are in Thor’s unconscious, the more real the dream is,” is the simplest explanation he can come up with. 

She steps closer to him and drops her voice. “Are you telling me that you could actually _die_ in one of your brother’s dreams?” 

Loki shrugs and then winces at the stretch on his back. “I suppose that’s possible,” he reluctantly admits. “If the situation were extreme enough. But I seriously doubt that’s Thor’s intention.” 

The Valkyrie’s expression is difficult to read. She looks angry and unhappy, distressed and concerned. The gamut of her emotions is focused solely on him. “You didn’t tell me any of this before,” she says accusingly, an undercurrent of hurt creeping into her voice.

Loki is taken aback by how strong her feelings are on the matter. He wants to say that he didn’t think any of that was necessary, but doesn’t want to upset her further. And the Valkyrie is clearly _upset_. 

“Would you have chosen not to help me if you’d known?” he asks instead. It is a smooth evasive tactic. 

“No,” she says quickly. “But I didn’t think you’d be in such peril.” 

Loki gives her a half-smile. “What would a spirit journey be without a little peril?” 

The Valkyrie doesn’t return his smile. Her expression is serious when she asks, “Does Thor even know –” 

She doesn’t get to finish her question. 

“Well, what’s this?”

Thor’s booming voice breaks their semi stand off. The Valkyrie steps away from Loki as she looks to the entrance where Thor is standing; Loki glances down at Fenrir as if the pup has somehow called Thor to the room. (Fenrir doesn’t even stir at the sound of Thor’s voice.) 

“I didn’t expect to see you two here.” Thor strides into the room, eyeing the both of them curiously until he catches sight of Loki’s injured back. “How did this happen?” he asks, his voice even sharper than the Valkyrie’s had been. 

“Sparring accident yesterday,” Loki replies blandly. He feels the Valkyrie’s heated gaze shoot towards him, but he studiously refuses to meet it, instead choosing to meet Thor’s assessing stare. “We were a little overzealous,” he says casually. “We’ll be more careful.” 

“This is a serrated blade,” Thor points out. The implication is clear. The Valkyrie’s short swords are smooth edged and lethally sharp. 

“Have you seen the weapons racks in the training room?” Loki asks mildly. “It’s an intriguing but motley collection, much like our Sakaarian gladiators. We like to switch things up from time to time. It keeps things fresh.” 

This, in fact, is true and the half-lie slips easily and believably from Loki’s lips. Beside him, he can feel the Valkyrie’s tension, but she’s not about to dispute him. Thor’s gaze passes over Loki’s back one more time before he nods. Loki knows that his brother has accepted the lie completely. The best lies are always grounded in believability. That doesn’t mean Thor is pleased. His gaze slides up to the Valkyrie and there is definitely steel behind Thor’s blue eye. 

“Perhaps I can take my brother’s place today during your regular sparring session? Give him some time to rest,” he says to her. Thor phrases it as though it were a question, but his tone and expression leave no doubt that his words are not a suggestion. 

The Valkyrie smartly bows her head. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she says, in the most docile voice Loki has ever heard. He has to look away before a smirk breaks out. “I would be honored.” 

When Loki has finally schooled his expression back to bland indifference, he glances at Thor and asks, “Why are you here anyway?” 

Thor’s eye snaps back to him, his expression immediately softening. “I came to speak with Roskva,” he explains. “I wanted to set up an interview with her after her shift.” 

“For the Council?” Loki questions. 

“You don’t approve?” 

“No, it’s not that,” Loki says, with a shake of his head. “She’s the senior healer. She should be interviewed.” 

“Then what is it?” 

Loki’s expression grows thoughtful. “If she and her brother both earn a seat, it would smack of nepotism.” 

“You like Thialfi.” 

“Very much.” 

Thor considers this. “I agree,” he says after a moment. “But we should still interview the both of them and proceed from there.” 

“I’ll set up the interview with her,” Loki offers. “She still has to bandage my back.” 

“Right,” Thor says, his gaze flitting to the Valkyrie once more. “Four o’clock, is it?” he confirms with her, no doubt remembering the time from when she’d waltzed out of Loki’s room after spending the night. 

She nods, her expression carefully neutral. 

“I’ll see you both at breakfast then,” Thor continues, more amiably now. Fenrir stands up at the word ‘breakfast’ and he looks up at Loki, as though asking for permission.

“Yes,” Loki agrees. “Take Fenrir with you,” he adds. “I don’t think he can wait much longer.” 

“My pleasure,” Thor replies, bending down to scoop the pup into his arms. 

When Thor has left them, the Valkyrie punches Loki in the arm. 

“Ow,” Loki says, rubbing the spot. The Valkyrie had thrown a _real_ punch. 

“Your brother is going to _kick…my…ass_!” she hisses. “Couldn’t you have come up with something else?”

“It was the most convincing lie,” Loki says, nonplussed. “I’m sure you can hold your own against Thor,” he adds. 

“Not when he’s this motivated,” she retorts. Then she slaps her forehead with her palm. “Norns, he’s going to kill me. He still thinks we slept together. He might think we’re _still_ sleeping together.” 

Loki glances at her in surprise. “I thought you were going to set him straight about that once he ‘won’ the bet,” he reminds her. 

“I haven’t had time!” she exclaims. “He only won the bet yesterday!” 

This time, Loki doesn’t stop the smirk from breaking out. “Shall I put an added layer of security on all the airlocks?” he suggests. “Just to be safe?” 

“You’re impossible!” 

Loki laughs outright at that. “You _are_ getting to know me better,” he tells her with a smile.

* * * * *

It would take days before Loki would recognize his error, and even now it’s difficult to think of his actions as a mistake. They simply had unforeseen consequences, which Loki takes in stride as part of the spirit journey. He’s _supposed_ to make mistakes, right? How else would he learn?

At the time, Loki had been proud of the spell. By placing he and Thor into the fabric of Thor’s dream, he’d altered Thor’s dreamscape, manipulated it because his brother had allowed him. It had been a significant achievement. Except… 

Except reliving that particular aspect of the dream had opened the door to something else. The following night, Loki had entered his brother’s unconscious and found himself in the White Room again. This didn’t alarm him. The White Room, after all, was Thor’s sanctuary. Except… 

Except Thor had greeted him with kisses, showering him with all the affection that Loki wouldn’t let Thor show him in the waking world. Loki had been too surprised to resist and they’d both fallen onto the waiting bed in a tangle of limbs and kisses. Loki had written off that night’s dream, too sated and content to worry about the spirit journey. How could he worry about dream quests when Thor was doing _that_ with his tongue? Except… 

Except the night after that had been more of the same. And the night after that, and the night after that. By the fifth night, Loki realized that they were stuck. His spirit journey was stalled. In the White Room, which Loki could’ve conveniently renamed the Sex Room or the Den of Iniquity since they did only one thing in that room and on that bed with the aid of the creative range of toys that Thor helpfully provided, most of them of Midgardian design. (Loki had never considered the possibility that Jane might be kinky. She rose in esteem in his eyes.) Loki was the dominant one in the bedroom. He could put a stop to this. He _should_. But he didn’t.

A week went by. Life onboard _The Haven_ had fallen into a comforting routine. Loki’s mornings were still his own, the afternoons were spent interviewing candidates, and sparring with the Valkyrie before the evening meal. Well, he hadn’t been doing much sparring of late, but he would often watch Thor take his place. The first day had been the worst, with Thor’s very real anger permeating the training room. Thor hadn’t shown much mercy, the sparring bordering on full combat and the Valkyrie had thrown Loki more than one aggrieved expression, silently bearing the brunt of Thor’s undeserved wrath. 

There had been a break after the fourth bout and Loki approached his brother with a bottle of water. Thor thanked him with a nod and Loki watched the bob of Thor’s Adam’s apple as his brother drank. Thor was at his most masculine like this, in his element, a sheen of sweat on his body, the exertion of fighting leaving a lovely flush on his golden skin even in the artificial lighting of a ship. Loki could appreciate his brother’s attractiveness and he didn’t look away when Thor caught him staring. He smiled instead and stepped closer, registering the note of surprise on Thor’s expression as he took the now-empty water bottle from his brother. 

“You shouldn’t be so hard on her,” Loki told him quietly.

Thor’s expression became shuttered, his lips curling into the faintest frown. “She hurt you,” he said just as quietly and Loki’s mind flashed to the most recent dream. _You’re mine to protect._

“It was an accident,” Loki reminded him. When the hard set of Thor’s jaw didn’t change, he placed a hand on Thor’s hip, watching as brother’s gaze dropped to where his hand now rested. “Accidents happen during sparring.” With his other hand, Loki reached up and traced Thor’s leather eye patch. “You fight well with this,” he observed. “You’ve adjusted to your lack of peripheral vision.” 

Thor caught his wrist, holding it in a light grip. Uncertainty marked his features. He didn’t appear to know what to do with Loki’s sudden closeness, with his voluntary touching, with his soft words. Thor hesitated, finally placing a gentle kiss on the inside of Loki’s wrist. 

Loki allowed the action. “Don’t be so hard on her,” he repeated. 

“Only because you ask, brother.” 

“I do,” Loki said firmly.

The last part of the routine would be the evenings with Thor. Usually they ate in the cafeteria, but twice now they had had a quiet meal in Thor’s cabin with only Fenrir for company. They were growing at ease in each other’s company again. Thor, to Loki’s surprise, had finally learned stillness and silence. Gone were the days when Thor needed constant activity, when he couldn’t sit still for more than thirty minutes. He no longer craved the raucous voices of friends, though he still enjoyed the company of others. Thor would always be a social creature, whereas Loki was solitary by nature. But now Thor could sit in quiet contemplation. He didn’t seem to find silence oppressive or uncomfortable, and if he stared too much at Loki…well, Loki would often gift him with a soft smile.

As the days went by, Loki was grudgingly aware that his presence was growing in Thor’s cabin even if he refused to keep any personal belongings there, leaving each morning to wash and change in his own cabin. The two cabins weren’t far from each other since the quarters for the senior crew were located in the same hallway. If he and Thor weren’t sharing an evening meal in private, he would slip into Thor’s cabin only when he was ready for bed. But there were other signs of Loki’s presence. Fenrir, who went everywhere with him, now had his own sleeping basket in Thor’s stateroom, though the pup often joined them on the bed. Loki also enjoyed lounging in Thor’s bed in the mornings after breakfast. It had become his favorite place to read since it was much more comfortable than his own bed, and no one – not even the Valkyrie – would disturb him there. He also liked using the table in Thor’s cabin to work, since it was more spacious than the crowded desk in his own cabin. Sometimes in the evenings, he and Thor would sit at that table with tumblers of Vanaheim brandy and discuss that day’s set of interviews, stripping the list of candidates to the chosen few. Other nights Loki spent with the Valkyrie (he still thought of her as ‘the Valkyrie’ even though her name was no longer a secret), having a few drinks in his cabin. Through some unspoken agreement, they were yet to invite Thor to join them, though his brother must have known about those evenings. Thor didn’t seem to mind overmuch, now that Loki shared his bed every night. Loki, on the other hand, was amazed that he had won the Valkyrie over so completely. She was clearly _his_ ally and not Thor’s, which was all good and well so long as the three of them remained on the same side. But how long would that last?

Finally, there was the White Room. It didn’t matter how far apart he and Thor were when they went to sleep; in Thor’s dreamscape they were a tangle of limbs, wet kisses and sweaty bodies. And even though Loki continued to diligently remove the dreams from his brother’s memory, sometimes he wondered if something got by or if his brother had some kind of latent muscle memory. Thor was always easygoing after sex (loose-limbed and golden was how Loki thought of it), and in the days that followed the bet, Thor radiated contentment. Others remarked upon it and wondered at its cause. Even the Valkyrie had once nudged Loki in the side and said quietly, “Spirit journey going well I see. No more Frost Giants.” Loki couldn’t bring himself to tell her that the journey was stalled, stuck in the White Room. But maybe being stuck wasn’t such a terrible thing, not when Thor was so happy and an amicable peace had settled between them. Maybe they had done enough for a spirit journey. 

Loki is contemplating all this, lounging once again in Thor’s bed in the late morning, listlessly flipping through a book. Thor has begun holding court in the mornings again and that is something Loki does _not_ miss about ruling. It is an opportunity for the people to speak with his brother, to air their grievances or make their pleas. On more than one occasion Thor has asked Loki to join him at court. Loki always refuses.

“I’m not needed there.” 

“But you are,” Thor insists. “I’d like to see a friendly face at court.” 

“You have Heimdall.” 

“ _Another_ friendly face.” When Loki doesn’t budge, Thor continues. “Sometimes I feel…” he hesitates. “Sometimes I feel like the people are dissatisfied with my decisions. As if Father – or _you_ – would’ve reached a better compromise or a fairer judgment.”

Loki is surprised by Thor’s honesty, but he doesn’t show it. “Have the people actually said that?” he asks instead. 

“Well, of course they won’t _say_ it,” Thor replies with enough derision that it makes Loki smile. (Derision is more Loki’s repertoire than his brother’s.) “But I can tell. I can _feel_ it.”

Loki contemplates this revelation, absently turning the tumbler of brandy in his hand. As with most things, ruling gets better with practice. Thor will learn that too. “Has Heimdall said anything?” he eventually asks. 

“No,” Thor admits. “Perhaps he wants me to learn this lesson on my own.” 

“Perhaps,” Loki agrees. “Or perhaps you’re merely imagining it.” 

“See for yourself,” Thor pleads. “Join me at court, Loki. Please.” 

“Soon.” 

‘Soon’ proved to be the right answer. It demonstrated a level of commitment without specifying a specific day or time. It was merely…soon. It also explains why Loki is currently lounging in bed while Thor is holding court, pondering what to do about his spirit journey. 

_You’re stalling_ , a clear voice says.

Loki starts and sits up quickly. His eyes dart about Thor’s cabin. When he confirms that he’s alone, he opens his senses, testing the room for unknown magical forces. Nothing greets him. Could he have misheard? Was that voice a flight of the imagination? Loki would swear that the voice seemed to come from his own head. His glance lands on Fenrir who is seated at the foot of the bed, his piercing blue eyes focused on Loki. Loki wonders. Could it be…? No…. 

“Did you speak to me?” he asks the pup, whom he should stop thinking of as a pup. Fenrir has grown onboard _The Haven_. It has been nearly a month since they left Vanaheim. 

_I said you’re stalling._

Loki’s mouth drops open in shock. He leans forward and studies the pup, his mind flying through the possibilities. 

“You’re a _puca_ ,” he says faintly. 

Fenrir bares his teeth in a smile and nods. _One shape shifter knows another_. 

“Can you shape shift yet?” Loki asks, wonderingly. 

_Soon. Soon._

The voice is a pleased rumble in Loki’s head. He decides that he likes Fenrir’s voice; rich and smooth, teasing in its warmth. It suits him.

“I did not think your kind was endemic to Vanaheim.” 

_We are not_ , the _puca_ confirms. _My kin comes from Alfheim._

“Did the shaman know what you were when he gave you to me?” 

_He may have suspected_. Loki can hear the mental shrug accompanying that statement. _I_ chose _you_ , the _puca_ informs him. _My kind gives our service freely_. 

Loki laughs brightly. “And here I thought you were a direwolf.” 

_I can still be that for you_ , the _puca_ says, amusement coloring his tone. 

Loki sits back, leaning against the headboard. He motions for Fenrir to join him and the _puca_ gets up, padding to where Loki is sitting. He throws himself across the prince, head and front paws resting in Loki’s lap. Loki begins to stroke across the back of Fenrir’s head. 

“I would’ve recognized you sooner if you had yellow eyes,” he comments. He knows that yellow eyes are a distinguishing feature of the _puca_. They are the only feature that remains unchanged, no matter what form the _puca_ takes.

_They will change soon enough._

“When you can shape shift?” 

_Yes._

“Shame,” Loki says, still stroking Fenrir’s head. “You have such lovely blue eyes.” 

Fenrir lifts his head, showing Loki his expressive blue eyes. _This is my true form_ , he says. _I can keep them blue in this form if you wish._

“I would like that,” Loki tells him. 

Fenrir rests his head on Loki’s lap again and Loki feels the burst of contentment from the _puca_. He hadn’t been imagining it then, all those times when Fenrir’s emotions had seemed so clear to him. It was the _puca_ projecting his feelings, knowing that Loki would be receptive to them, but still unable to communicate fully. 

“What did you mean,” Loki says after a while. “When you said that I was stalling?” 

_Your spirit journey_. 

Loki glances down sharply. “Have you entered the dreams?”

 _I do not have that power. But I have seen some of them through your thoughts_. 

“I suppose I’ll have to be more careful with that now,” Loki muses. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asks after a moment. He feels Fenrir’s warm laugh roll through his mind. It is not unpleasant at all having this connection to the _puca_. 

_Some of the dreams are very…graphic_. 

Loki laughs at the _puca_ ’s choice of words. “You are such a voyeur, Fenrir,” he chides. 

When their laughter has faded away, Fenrir says, quite seriously, _You must get Thor out of the White Room_. 

Loki sighs and slides down the bed. Fenrir rearranges himself into a ball tucked into Loki’s side. “I know,” he agrees. “I will get Thor out of the White Room.”

* * * * *

Few would probably suspect, but Thor enjoys being taken from behind. His favorite position is on his front, legs tucked under him disguising his bulk, his wrists sometimes bound to the bedposts. Loki presses into him from behind, sometimes on his knees, but more often draping himself over Thor’s broad back. It’s harder for Loki to come this way, but the position keeps Thor full, which his brother likes.

Loki is pounding into Thor now, the slap of flesh against flesh and the shallow gasps Thor makes with every thrust the only sound in the White Room. Loki can feel his brother tensing underneath him, the tight coil of muscle one of the signs that his brother is near his peak. He feels Thor clench around him, and then he’s following Thor over the cliff, pleased that Thor can come from his cock alone. He braces himself over Thor’s body, hands on either side of Thor’s wide shoulders. He pushes in some more, holding the position until he feels the last of his seed is spent. He’s breathing hard, thighs straining from the exertion. Beneath him, Thor is still trembling slightly, his brother’s ragged breathing now slowing its pace. He plants a kiss at the base of Thor’s sweat-slicked neck, pulls out and then collapses on the bed beside his brother. With a flick of his wrist, he releases Thor from his bonds. 

“Good?” he asks, stretching languidly. 

“Always,” Thor answers, turning his head to look at Loki. He rubs at his wrists absently before shifting to his side and gathering Loki in his arms. The post-coital cuddle is one of Thor’s more endearing habits. 

Loki breathes in the scent of Thor’s musk, now mingled with his own. Fenrir’s words echo clearly in his mind, _You must get Thor out of the White Room_. With a mental sigh, Loki steels himself for the task ahead. He brushes his hand across Thor’s collarbone. “We can’t keep doing this,” he says quietly.

“Doing what?” Thor asks, completely without guile. 

Loki mentally sighs again and tries another track. “Do you remember what you said to me in the last dream?” When Thor doesn’t respond, Loki continues. “You told me, ‘This is what I wanted to show you.’” 

Thor stubbornly remains silent, fingertips mapping Loki’s spine. 

“Isn’t there anything else you want to show me?” Loki presses after a while. 

Thor shakes his head. “Nothing comes to mind, no,” he says. 

“Are you even _trying_?”

Thor gaze snaps to Loki’s face. “And what’s wrong with what we’re doing now?” he finally asks. “Are you not enjoying it?” 

“Yes, I’m enjoying it,” Loki assures him. “But this isn’t the reason why I’m here.” 

“Why are you here, Loki?” 

“This is it,” Loki says. “This is the spirit journey.” 

“To enter my dreams?” 

“Spirit journeys take different forms,” Loki explains. “I didn’t choose this.” That’s not entirely true, he thinks. But the dream quest felt more like an accident than a conscious choice. “I’m fairly certain that there’s more to this journey than having sex in your dreams.” 

“I’m not so sure, Loki,” Thor says with good humor. “Dreams are also about wish fulfillment. I can do here what you won’t let me do in the waking world.” 

“That could change.” 

Thor’s embrace grows that fraction tighter and his expression more serious as he studies Loki. His look attests to his disbelief. 

“It could,” Loki insists. “But what happens in the waking world will be determined by what we do here.” 

“Things are going very well onboard _The Haven_ ,” Thor tells him.

“That is a false sense of security,” Loki shoots back. “A kind of détente because the spirit journey is stalled.” Before Thor’s expression can turn into a frown, Loki softens his words. “I’m not saying we should stop this,” he says, gesturing at the White Room. “I’m just saying that we have to do other things.” 

This time it’s Thor’s turn to sigh. “Such as?” he asks with an air of resignation. 

“This is _your_ dreamscape, Thor,” Loki reminds him. “What do you want to do?” 

“I think I’ve made it perfectly clear that I’m content to simply stay in this room with you,” Thor says, a bit more heatedly. “I’m happy that you’re here at all.” 

“Yes,” Loki agrees in his most smoothing voice, one hand running across Thor’s shoulder. “But surely there must be something else…” 

“What do _you_ want to see, Loki?” Thor asks, a little flatly.

Loki meets Thor’s blue gaze, still penetrating, still watching him like a hawk. The offer is immense. Once again, Thor is relinquishing too much control of his dreamscape, but Loki chooses not to remind him of this. Thor would grant him anything at this moment, anything at all, and Loki considers the offer carefully. His mind latches onto a missing memory, something precious that he does not have but Thor possesses. It wounds him that he doesn’t have this memory, wounds him to the very core even as it harkens back to a much darker time. It is dangerous perhaps to ask, but how else will he know? He swallows and then says, “I wish to see Mother’s funeral. To say good-bye.” 

Thor’s expression immediately softens and instinctively he reaches out a finger to brush down Loki’s cheek. “Of course,” he murmurs. “Why didn’t I think of that?” 

“Because it is too painful a memory,” Loki whispers, the faintest tremor in his voice. “But for all that pain, I would share it with you.” 

Thor’s smile is sad and poignant, his hand drifting lower to cradle Loki’s nape, slipping into a familiar comforting position. He nods with some difficulty. “Yes,” he agrees. “You should know. Are you ready?” 

Loki nods and Thor closes his eyes. Loki can sense him gathering his thoughts, recalling the right moment to enter that memory. He remembers the vivid clarity of the quest to Nornheim and he seizes his chance, placing two fingers against Thor’s temple before the telltale sign of vertigo hits them both. He will have some measure of control over this dream as well…

* * * * *

Asgard. Loki feels the heavy veil of mourning that blankets everything, its pall weighing down on him acutely. Briefly, he regrets being so deep in Thor unconscious, for taking the next step and inserting himself into the very fabric of Thor’s dreamscape. Unlike Nornheim, there is no script to follow or it’s a script that he’s unaware of, but he feels the difference immediately. At least this way he doesn’t have to deal with Thor’s emotions as well as his own. That would surely break him.

Thor is standing beside him. Above the royal armor, his brother is dressed in royal robes of mourning. Without glancing down, Loki knows that he’s wearing similar attire. They are in a circular columned room in Asgard, reserved only for the royal family. Frigga is laid out in the center of the room in a lavish bier. It is the same bier that will be brought out to the grand throne room so that the people may pay their final respects to their Queen before she is sent on her final journey. Loki is thankful that Thor has chosen this moment, away from the prying eyes of the public, so that their grief is their own. He approaches the bier slowly, almost afraid of what he will see. But there is nothing to fear. Frigga’s expression is peaceful as she lies silently on the bier. There is no trace of pain or trauma across her features; she is as beautiful as Loki remembers, her golden tresses pulled back. She is not yet wearing the veil that will cover her face, but her sword is clasped in her hands. She looks for all the world as though she is merely asleep, and any moment now she will open her blue eyes and greet him. 

Loki’s breath catches. It is too soon to cry, too soon. 

He wants to touch, but he keeps his hands by his sides. His fingers twitch until he feels another hand close over them and he returns the grip instantly. Thor has joined him at the bier, standing so close that he can feel his brother’s warmth along his side.

“I wanted to tell you,” Thor says, his grip tightening on Loki’s hand. “I _should’ve_ told you. But Father forbade it, and I was too…weak…to disobey. You should not have heard this news from a _guard_ , Loki.” 

Loki feels the tears starting to gather and he fights them down. “I should not have heard this news at all,” he whispers. He takes a deep breath and wills those tears away. He will tell Thor now one of his terrible secrets, even if he cannot face his brother’s wrath. 

“It is my fault that this happened.” 

He feels Thor start beside him and the protest is immediate, “No, Loki –” 

“No,” Loki says calmly, putting all the force of command into the single word. It silences Thor. “You do not understand. It was I who told the Kursed one how to escape the prison. Think how differently things might have been if I had chosen order instead of chaos. If I had misdirected him instead of shown him the path.”

He turns to his left, Thor’s sudden stillness unnerving him. There are tears shining in his eyes now, but he doesn’t care. Thor’s expression is one of open shock and hurt, but no anger. Loki cannot fathom why there is no anger there. 

“It is my fault,” he repeats, the words once said now coming easier a second time. “The Kursed one brought down the palace shield. What if Malekith’s ship had never been able to enter the citadel? What then?” 

Thor is shaking his head. “No,” he says vehemently. “No, you do not know that.” 

“Oh, but I do,” Loki says with an eerie calm. “You would’ve stopped him, Thor, if given more time. Everything I did was to strike against Asgard, against the very heart of it. Against you. Against Father. The Kursed one was a test to overcome, like so many others.” 

“Then I failed. _We all failed_.” Thor is gripping him tightly by his arms, has turned him so that they are face-to-face. “You cannot think like this, Loki. Yes, your actions contributed to what happened, but this is _not_ your fault. It was a coordinated attack that bested our defenses. But more than that, the forces working against Asgard were too great to be stopped by a single person.”

Loki lets out a small laugh, the tears finally spilling from the movement. “But is that not what you did to save the Nine Realms?” 

“No,” Thor says with a start. “No, I was not alone.” 

Loki shakes his head, eyes fluttering shut. He feels impossibly weary, his body a dead weight that Thor is holding up through his strength. “You are so changed,” he murmurs. “There was a time when your quick anger would have eclipsed all else, when a confession as terrible as mine would have lead to shouting and more heated words, not rational discussion.” 

Thor lets out a small laugh of his own and Loki hears the tears in the sound. He opens his eyes and meets Thor’s tear-stained gaze.

“I will not lose you,” Thor says. “Whatever happened in the past is done.” 

Loki wants to shake his head. _No_ , he thinks. _No, that’s not true at all_. 

“And if our past actions come back to haunt us,” Thor continues. “Then we will face them. I will not lose you,” he says again. 

This time Loki shakes his head. He looks down. “You are still a fool, Thor,” he murmurs. 

Thor’s hand is on his chin, raising his head. “But I am _your_ fool,” he says, before he kisses Loki through the salt of their tears.

* * * * *

Frigga’s bier is placed onto the ornately carven funeral ship. Loki slips the veil over her face, arranging it carefully. The ship sails through the throng of people, nobles and commoners alike, who line the grand throne room of Asgard. The debris and destruction from the Dark Elves’ attack has been cleared away, the golden floor parted to reveal the flowing stream that will carry the Queen’s ship out to sea.

Loki stands with Thor on the viewing platform overlooking the sea that flows to the very edge of Asgard. The Lady Sif and the Warriors Three are there, though they stand apart from the princes. Discreetly, Loki studies Odin from where he stands. The Allfather has never looked more his age, diminished it seems, in the heavy bulk of his royal armor. His face is careworn with grief, with the loss of his beloved wife, with the burden of fighting off a great evil that he had believed long vanquished. Loki remembers this about Odin; how easy it had been to subdue and banish his own father. He wonders if he would have followed through on his actions if his mother had still been alive. She would’ve seen through his illusion, would’ve stopped him from casting Odin into Midgard. Frigga had always brought out the best in him, had nurtured the good in his soul. Much would have turned out differently if she had lived. 

He does not dwell on what-could-have-been. The funeral ship has reached the midway point of its journey. Odin taps Gungnir once, a sign that the archer should fire his flaming arrow into the bier. The arrow’s flight is true and the bier bursts into flame. Dozens of arrows fly into the night and the numerous ships loaded with offerings for the Queen’s afterlife, hidden by the dark waters of the Asgardian sea, are also lit with burning flames. The ships continue their journey, the Queen’s funeral ship leading them all. Just as it reaches the lip of the sea, Gungnir strikes the ground again and the ship does not tip over the edge. It continues onwards, floating for a while until a third strike from Gungnir has the Queen’s ashes transforming into pinpricks of light and flying into the heavens. Loki watches his mother take her place in the heavens, a luminous constellation in her afterlife, burning as brightly as she had lived.

Thor’s hand has slipped into his again. “She will watch over us. Always,” Thor tells him. 

“Yes,” Loki agrees, for the first time feeling a semblance of peace over Frigga’s death. “And what do you think she will see when she looks down on us?” 

“Two sons that she loved with all her heart,” Thor replies. “And who make her proud.” 

Loki lifts his face to Thor, who meets his gaze steadfastly. The time for tears has passed. “Thank you for this,” he says, softly. 

“For you, Loki, always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm bastardizing so many sources and mythologies, I decided to pull the _puca_ from Celtic mythology because why not? Also, Fenrir can actually shape shift in the comics, so it doesn't feel that far off. 
> 
> Secondly, the amazing Mouse wrote COMMENT FIC on "Odin's Very Bad Day" as an addendum to the epic quest of Chapter 7. Read it and give her some love! [Part I](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/147087747) and [Part II](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/147088155)

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to Marvel. No infringement is intended; no profit is being made.


End file.
